The Distant Promise
The rain does not fall so much as it accumulates, a thick, grey paste that clings to the brim of your hat and soaks through the wool of your uniform until the fabric becomes a second, heavier skin, damp and cold against your neck. You stand at the edge of the alleyway, the cobblestones slick beneath your boots, reflecting the sickly yellow glow of the streetlamp that flickers like a dying...
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