The Distant Whispers

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2026-08-17 22:33:13 -

The bell tolls. You hear it in your teeth. It is a low, wet sound. Like a stone sinking in mud. You are in the yard. The stones are cold. They bite through your boots. You do not move. You wait. The mist rises from the cobblestones. It smells of rain and iron. There is no fixed image here. Only the gray. Only the cold. You are a man in a tunic. Your hands are bound. Or they seem to be. They are...

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