The Distant Wound

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2026-08-20 06:46:47 -

The Distant Wound

The fog rolled in from the harbor. It tasted of salt and rust. I stood at the gate. The iron was cold. My father was waiting. He held a lantern. The flame shook. He did not speak. He looked at the coat on my back. It was black. It was heavy. It was mine. We walked into the city. The streets were empty. The lamps were off. The air was thick. We moved like ghosts. Or maybe we were the ghosts. The...

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