The Distant Metropolis
The cold in the house was not merely an absence of heat but a physical presence, a heavy, silent guest that sat in the corner of the room and watched you with the patience of a glacier, and you, who had once commanded the rigid order of the barracks and the chaotic noise of the street, now found yourself kneeling on the polished oak floorboards, your fingers tracing the cold, unyielding surface...
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