The Distant Ghost
The sky did not break; it peeled. That was the first thing I understood as the storm hit the ridge, a tearing of the air so violent it felt like a wound opening in the flesh of the world. I stood on the precipice of the Watchtower, a structure of black iron and ancient stone that had stood for three centuries, holding the heavy, rusted lantern in my left hand. The glass was cracked, the wick...
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