The Distant Nightmare
The leather of my gauntlets cracked in the silence. It was a dry, brittle sound, like a twig snapping under a winter boot. I sat in the corner of the keep’s great hall, my back against the cold stone. The fire had died down to embers. They glowed with a faint, dying pulse. Red. Orange. Black. My hands were resting in my lap. I stared at them. The leather was worn thin at the knuckles. The...
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