The Distant Wound
The cathedral did not burn, as the histories later claimed, but it shattered, a slow and agonizing disintegration of stone and mortar that seemed to follow the rhythm of the breaths of those who watched it die. Elias Vane stood at the periphery of the courtyard, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his woolen coat, feeling the cold seep through the fabric and into the marrow of his bones, a...
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