The Wistful Voyage
The iron bit. It bit deep into my mouth. The smell of rust and blood filled the air. I tasted my own vitality. It was copper. It was cold. The room was a vault. Stone walls. High ceilings. Dust motes danced in the shaft of light. I was a guard. I was a prisoner. I was the same man. The clock ticked. It was a heavy sound. A metronome for my pulse. I stood at my post. The post was a chair. The...
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