The Distant Joke
You are walking down the long, cobblestone spine of the carriage, and the wheels are humming a low, droning hymn that vibrates up through the soles of your boots and into the marrow of your bones. The air inside is thick, stagnant, smelling of old wool, wet earth, and the faint, metallic tang of fear. You sit in the corner, your back pressed against the sliding door, your knees drawn up to your...
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