The Distant Crown
The alarm does not ring. It screams. A jagged, electric shriek that tears through the velvet silence of the night shift. You are awake before your mind has fully attached to your body. Your hands are already moving, pulling the steel-grey uniform over your shoulders. The fabric is rough. It smells of stale sweat and industrial soap. You are Margaret. You are the keeper of the gate. You are the...
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