The Distant Wound

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2026-08-18 01:07:07 -

The Distant Wound

The hall smelled of stale wine and wet wool. We were all there. The whole town, packed tight against the rafters. The air was thick. It pressed against my skin. I sat at the long table. My hands were shaking. I could not stop them. I looked down. There it was. The cloak. It lay in a heap before me. It was red. A deep, arterial red. The fabric was torn. Ripped from the shoulder to the hem. I had...

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