The Distant Wound
The iron gates of the Ministry of Silence stood open, a gaping maw in the grey stone wall that separated the sanctuary of the old world from the sterile, humming belly of the new. You stood there, Thomas, your breath pluming in the cold November air, watching the mist swirl around the boots of the guard who nodded to you with a hollow, practiced politeness that felt less like greeting and more...
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