The Distant Wound

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 14:35:37 -

The Distant Wound

The morning shift begins with the smell of ozone and wet wool. You stand in the grey corridor of the Foundry, the steam hissing from the pipes above your head like a living thing. Your boots are heavy. Your hands are steady. This is what you were made for. This is what they paid you to be. The mirror on the wall, cracked down the center, reflects your face. It is not your face. It is a mask of...

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