The Distant Metropolis
Act I Kaito Ito sat at the edge of his tatami, the cracked jade pendant warm against his sternum, and tried to remember the taste of iron. It was not a metaphor; the rain in his dream, the rain that fell on the distant metropolis he had never seen, coated his tongue with a metallic tang that persisted even after he woke, staining his lips with a phantom rust. He was thirty-two years old, a...
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