The Distant Metropolis
The iron chain bit into Elara’s wrists with a cold that seemed to travel not through the flesh but into the marrow, a metallic taste that bloomed on her tongue as the rain hammered against the mud of the highland road, turning the earth into a slurry of brown and black that sucked at the heavy boots of the men who dragged her forward, and she did not look back, for to look back was to admit...
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