The Faded Shield
The brass buckle of my watch strap was a small, cold star pinned to the inside of my wrist, a metallic eye that watched the seconds dissolve into the grey sludge of the textile mill’s basement, where the air hung heavy with the scent of wet wool and the metallic tang of ozone, a smell that seemed to cling to the back of my throat like a persistent lie, and I stood there, alone in the dimly lit...
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