The Distant Wound

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2026-08-20 08:56:41 -

The Distant Wound

The coat was red. Not a bright red, but the deep, arterial crimson of a wound that had been scabbed over and then picked at, again and again, until the flesh beneath was raw and white. It hung on the back of a chair in the corner of the room, a heavy wool thing that smelled of damp earth and old smoke. Arthur had worn it for three years. Three years in the lower levels, where the air tasted of...

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