The Distant Summer
The apple is red, a bruised and heavy thing that sits in the palm of your hand like a secret too large for the body to hold. You are standing at the edge of the pine forest, the air thin and biting with the sharp scent of resin and approaching snow, and you are waiting for the order that will change the geometry of your life. You are a soldier, or perhaps a warden, the titles have blurred in...
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