The Distant Wound
The rain against the reinforced glass of the observation deck is not a sound but a pressure, a low-frequency hum that vibrates in the marrow of your bones, a constant, wet reminder that the world outside is still happening, still decaying, still alive in a way that you are no longer permitted to be, for you are Eleanor, or rather, you are Subject 74-B, a designation that has slowly eaten away...
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