The Distant Legend
The pain is in your left hand, specifically the knuckle of the index finger, and it has been there for three years. It is a dull, grinding ache that ignores the weather and the time of day, a constant low hum in the marrow that reminds you that you are still alive, still holding the pen, still trying to make sense of the archives. You are a scholar of urban history, a man who deals in dates,...
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