The Distant Metropolis
The ink was fading, and with it, the certainty of who I was. It had begun as a smudge, a slight blurring of the serif font on the ledger pages that lined the walls of my office, a subtle erosion that I had initially dismissed as the humidity of the autumn rain pressing against the glass. But the letters were not merely blurring; they were dissolving, their edges softening into the white of the...
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