The Distant Wound
The seal broke not with a sound of shattering glass or the roar of a collapsing wall, but with the quiet, wet exhalation of a sigh that had been held in your throat for forty years, a sigh that tasted of iron and old paper and the specific, cloying sweetness of the ink you had spent your life grinding by hand, the ink that was supposed to bind the town of Oakhaven to its history, to its laws,...
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