The Distant Wound

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2026-08-23 03:26:16 -

The Distant Wound

The dream was always the same: a silver brooch, shaped like a stag’s antler, shattering against a stone floor. I woke in the narrow cot of my cell in District Four, the cold seeping through the thin wool of my tunic, and reached for the object lying on the bedside table. It was intact, polished to a mirror sheen, but when I held it up to the dim light of the lamp, the reflection that stared...

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