The Pale Fracture
What does a collar do when it is no longer skin? I woke with the static still humming in my teeth, the white noise of the dream pressing against my eardrums. My hands shook as I pulled the state-issued tunic over my head. The fabric was thin, worn to a translucent grey by twelve years of service in the Ministry of Continuity. The collar, once stiff, now hung limp, a frayed thing that smelled of...
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