The Distant Affair
The bell tolls. It is not a sound. It is a weight. It sits in your chest, a cold stone against the ribs. You do not flinch. You have learned not to flinch. The room is stone. The air is thin. It tastes of iron and old dust. You stand at the center of the circle. Your hands are bound. The rope is thick. It bites into the skin. You do not pull. You let it dig. Across the room, the Magistrate...
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