The Distant Nightmare
The silver cufflinks lay on the velvet pad, cold and heavy in my palm, vibrating with a low, sickly hum that I had mistaken for the city’s tremor. I am Hugh Sherwin, a bespoke tailor in the rain-slicked city of Oakhaven, and I am thirty-four years old, a fact that feels increasingly like a debt I cannot pay. The commission for my sister, Elara, was due by Friday, a simple charcoal suit intended...
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