The Distant Promise
The notice was written in a hand that trembled, the ink smudged by rain that had fallen sideways for a week, turning the mud of the valley into a soup of black clay. It read: Final Pardon Pending. Report to the Watchtower before the fog lifts. Failure to comply results in forfeiture of post and soul. Ivana Beridze held the paper until the edges frayed, her fingers stained with the rust of the...
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