The Wistful Letter
The tremor that begins not in the ground but in the marrow of your bones, that shudders the very tectonic plates of your nervous system until the world outside the window becomes a blurred smear of grey and green, is the first signal that the sickness has finally found the root, and you stand in the center of the heath, the wind tearing at your coat, the air thick with the metallic tang of...
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