The Distant Wound
The air in the Antechamber of the Ministry of Continuity was not merely cold; it was a physical weight, a dense, sterile pressure that sat upon the clavicle and squeezed the breath from the lungs in shallow, terrified sips, while the woman stood before the glass partition, her hands trembling not with fear but with the violent, electric anticipation of a surgical incision that she had longed to...
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