The Elixir of the Hollow
I The opium did not comfort Sebastian Black. It terrified him. That was the problem with opium—it did not numb the pain so much as make the pain beautiful, and beauty in the wrong hands is a more cruel instrument than any whip. He was twenty-four years old, and he was dying by degrees. Not the dramatic dying of the poets—no consumption coughing blood onto lace handkerchiefs, no heroic last...
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