The Distant Garden
The bell tower stood against a sky the color of bruised slate. Elias stood at its base. He held a lantern. The glass was cracked. Light leaked from the fissure. It fell on his hands. His hands were stained. The stain was black. It was ink. It was oil. It was time. He looked up. The tower was high. It pierced the clouds. It was the center of the court. It was the eye of the king. Or perhaps it...
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