The Wistful Show
The first thing you notice is the smell, a thick, cloying scent of wet iron and rotting lilies that coats the back of your throat before your eyes adjust to the gloom of the cell; you are scrubbing the black ichor from the wooden floorboards with a stiff-bristled brush, the bristles snapping under the pressure of your grip, and your left hand, the one holding the brush, has begun to turn a...
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