The Pale Meridian
The train shudders to a halt in the grey mist of the industrial valley, and you step onto the platform with your hands trembling, not from the cold, but from the weight of what you carry. You are not carrying a bag. You are carrying a secret that tastes like iron and old blood. It has been growing inside you for weeks, a dark, heavy fruit that has turned your stomach to stone. You are a...
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