The Distant Ghost
You have been looking for the hand. It is a strange thing to hunt for a limb that was never yours to begin with, yet here you are, in the white silence of the sterile room, tracing the air as if it were a map. The air tastes of antiseptic and old paper. It tastes of the end of things. You do not feel fear. You feel only a sharp, cold clarity, like the edge of a scalpel held up to the light. You...
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