Sarah ManavisVerified account

Penny Mordaunt looks down as she turns a page as well: her hands seem to have aged decades, centuries, the skin like ancient paper, the rings tarnished, the fingers trembling.

Sound from outside the room reaches it as if from a far-distant time and place. The rumble of the media outside in the street is like the groan of a retreating glacier. Brandon Lewis thinks for a moment that he can hear someone trying to break down the door, but the fancy passes.

Ṱ̡̧̤͈̞͕̅̆̓̂̈̀ͅH̶̵͓̳̠̙͇͚̜͒͆̈ͧE̻ͥ͂̉ͩ ̵̨͔̣̻̟̜̞̄̋ͅI̵͕̦̩̦̫͉͊͗̿͡Ŗ̝͇ͮͯ̀O̸̳̜̪͎͍͇͙̪̓͐̽ͦ͆ͦ̾̈́̓͜ͅṈ̤̱͇͂̍̌͋̐̀ͪ̐ͮ ̵̤̟ͮͧ̊͘͟K̛͙̩̳̳͚̬̇ͨ͋I̡̬̰͒ͦͬ͒ͪ͋ͣ́N̠̦̣͉̟͈͓̬͂̇G̟͎̻̘̥̳̲̫̔̆ͤͯ coughs, and a light dusting of ash falls in the room. Matthew Hancock brushes it off his briefing paper nervously.

Liam Fox tries to speak but the sound of a real fox chewing through its own leg to escape a trap is all that comes out.

The clock in the Cabinet Room has been pointing at 13 for the entire meeting, but in as far as time has any meaning anymore, it is almost time for the Prime Minister to end the meeting and face the media outside. She seems to have got away with it all so far. "Right," she says.

But no: T͙̣̩̞̠͎͈ͣ̔̓͊̋Ḫ̱̦͎̺͓̈̇͂̔͘E̵̫͋̆ͧͤ ͔̩͔͚̾͑̆͊̎̀̚I̹̝̍ͤŔ̗Oͪ̆ͫ̿N̵̜̫͇̻̻̭͖̂ ̘͋ͪK͐͊̾̏̚҉̮͕I̪̳͉̟̤͐ͮN̳̅͂̀ͣG̬̞̳͚̩̣̬̈́ is bending forward in his seat, his shroud rustling like a body dragged through the woods at night. Jeremy Wright is gripping the edge of the table, his knuckles white.

Chris Grayling nervously licks his lips, discovering in the process that his teeth have been replaced with shards of broken glass. The exact nature of the scent of hopelessness is dawning on Geoffrey Cox. David Mundell stares directly ahead.

words fail meaning perishes