The Distant Crown
The rain did not fall. It hung. A grey curtain, thick with the scent of ozone and old pennies, wrapped around the Ministry of Internal Truth. I stood in the corridor. The floor was black marble. It reflected my face. My face was tired. My face was mine. "You are late," said the voice behind me. I turned. It was Julian. My brother. He wore a suit that cost more than my house. His tie was red. A...
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