The Faded Dust
You wake with the taste of rust on your tongue and the memory of a bell that never rang. The air in the cell is thick, not with humidity, but with the weight of centuries of silence, a silence that has calcified into a substance you can almost chew. You are in a stone room, high above the city of New London, where the fog used to roll in like a grey tide before the factories burned it away. The...
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