Arithmetic of Erased Skin

The Arithmetic of Erased Skin In the imperial capital of Aethelgard, your existence depends on a clerk's ink. If the Ministry's mechanical difference-engines determine your tax-yield has fallen below the baseline variance, your name is scratched from the census—and your body follows. First your vowels vanish, then your history turns to gray grease, and finally, the pavement beneath your feet forge...