The Golden Scar
The orchard in the courtyard of the Ministry of Aesthetic Purity was dead, but we kept the water running, just as the Decree demanded. I stood beneath the boughs of the apple tree, the one my brother had planted before the Silence took him, and watched the water drip, dark and heavy, onto the pale stones. The air smelled of wet stone and rot, a scent that had become so familiar to me over these...
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