The Distant Blade
You hold the letter in your hands, the paper soft and damp from the humidity of the cellar where you slept, the ink bleeding slightly at the edges where your fingers have gripped it too hard. It is a standard form, Type 4B, printed in that cold, mechanical blue that the Magistrate’s office uses for all denials, and it states in dry, bureaucratic terms that the application for the release of...
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