The Distant Metropolis
The left hand of Elara Vance was not merely a limb but a map of her ruin, a topography of scars that had long since ceased to be fresh wounds and had instead calcified into a permanent, pale relief against the skin, a testament to a life spent in the service of an institution that demanded purity as the price of passage. She sat in the anteroom of the Ministry of Civic Harmony, a space designed...
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