The Distant Wound

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2026-08-18 12:32:22 -

The Distant Wound

The stone breathed. It was a slow, wet exhalation that smelled of iron and rot. I pressed my forehead against the cold facade. It was my skin. It was my bone. I am the wall. For forty years, I have stood here. The mortar is my blood. The lintel is my spine. I am the Watcher at the gate of Oakhaven. Or what remains of it. The town is a husk. A gray shell picked clean by the silence. The Council...

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