The Distant Joke

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2026-08-18 01:08:07 -

The Distant Joke

The hand was the first thing to go. Not the fingers, not the wrist, but the concept of the hand itself, stripped of its utility, left as a hollow map of bone and skin. It hung limp at her side, a ragged thing, useless as a dead leaf in a winter storm. Elara stood before the High Table, the wood cold and hard against her forearms. The air in the chamber was thick, stale with the scent of beeswax...

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