The Faded Shield
The rain had not stopped for three days, a relentless, gray curtain that turned the cobblestones of the district into slick mirrors reflecting the soot-streaked facades of the textile mills, a place where the air tasted of wet wool and iron and where your name was not your own but a number stamped in indelible ink onto the collar of a uniform that fit like a shroud. You wore the gray coat, the...
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