The Distant Metropolis
The dream did not begin with the roar of the cannons or the smell of the wet earth giving way to the churned mud of the trench, but with a sudden, terrifying silence that fell over the city like a heavy, grey wool blanket, smothering the distant hum of the tramlines and the sharp, metallic clatter of the blacksmiths on High Street, leaving only the sound of Cillian’s own breath, which seemed to...
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