The Distant Crown
The ring is in the box, and the box is on the table, and the table is in the kitchen, and the kitchen is cold, and you are alone, and the silence is a living thing that presses against your eardrums like the deep sea pressing against a submarine’s hull, and you stare at the gold band with a hatred so pure it feels like a new religion, a faith born in the ash of everything you thought you knew...
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