The archive smelled of wax and rain.
Elias Quillgrave sat beneath a flickering gaslight, its glow bringing light to the stack of sealed memories slips forgotten or soon to be, all labeled in crimson ink and bound in red string. His quill heavy in his hand scratching against the parchment like someone cutting paper with a dull blade. Around him, rows of scribes hunched over long desks, their eyes drooping dulled by ink, repetition, and the slow erosion of empathy.
Outside, the storm pressed against the stained glass like a beggar pleading for food. The Archive of Corrections was always silent at this time, no clocks, no footsteps. Only the hiss of the gas lamps and whispers of revised futures
Elias adjusted his gloves – gray and thin standard-issue – and dipped the nib again. The slip read:
Subject 918-R. Remove: Joy at childbirth. Replace with: fatigue. Reason: Breach of modesty expectations.
He didn't flinch. Not anymore. Last time someone did they were never seen again.
He was not alone in this thought nor would he be for a very long time. They were to copy edits handed down to them by the Red Watchmen. Tall figures patrolled the upper walkways in long crimson coats, veiled faces hidden behind sashes of living scripts. They never spoke. They never needed to.
Elias glanced upward only once. A Watchman paused – or perhaps it only seemed that way. A shadow behind the glass. A darkness in the light.
He lowered his eyes quickly.
A new slip arrived without warning.
No courier. No footsteps. It just. . .there. On his desk. Singed at the edges. The red ink bled strangely – like it was from somewhere else.
He frowned.
There was a name, barely visible under the red ink: Mireya.
Names were not supposed to be legible. Not to him. The Archive made sure of that. It made the memories feel from humans – putting a name to a memory he is going to rewrite.
So why did it seem written for him only to see?
His fingers twitched – tempted – he knew it was dangerous, going against every instinct and training but he moved to touch it.
The ink was warm.
It pulsed beneath his glove.
And then, something whispered–
"You remember me."
The light flickered. A pressure built behind Elias's eyes.
Elias blinked–
the world broke.