The Distant Affair
The iron band around my left wrist has fused with the flesh, a metallic scar that throbs in the damp chill of the cell, a cold, unyielding sentinel of the sin I committed against the order of things, a sin that was not of the body but of the eye, a sin of seeing what the architecture of the state forbade me to perceive. I am Elias Thorne, a man who has forgotten the taste of bread that is not...
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