The Pale Verdict
The dream had been the same for forty years, a recurring tide of ash and silence that swallowed the waking world whole, and in it, the path was not a path at all but a wound in the earth, a jagged scar of pale stone that cut through the black heathland like a blade drawn across the throat of the night. It was a boundary, a limit, a line that could not be crossed, yet it bled, and the bleeding...
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