The Wistful Throne
The rain hits the pavement. Hard. You stand in the alley. Your boots are wet. Your hands are shaking. You are a cop. You are a good cop. But your left hand is burning. It is not a wound. It is a heat. A deep, red glow. You look at it. The skin is translucent. You see the bones. They are not white. They are black. They are like coal. You try to pull your glove on. It slips. The heat spreads. It...
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