The Distant Garden
You are the keeper of the seal. It is a heavy thing. Iron. Cold. It hangs from a leather strap that has worn into the skin of your neck. The strap is old. The leather is cracked. It smells of sweat and rust. You wear it every day. You have worn it for forty years. The iron is smooth now. It has no sharp edges. It fits the curve of your chest perfectly. You do not remember when it started to fit...
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