The Distant Wound
The rain fell in sheets of grey iron against the carriage windows, blurring the world outside into a smear of soot and mud as you sat in the back seat, your knees pressed tight against the door panel. You held the small, leather-bound book in your lap, its cover cracked and faded, the spine worn to a thread by years of thumbs and anxious fingertips. This was the object that had brought you to...
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