The Distant Wound
The stone bites back. You feel it in the knuckles, a dull, throbbing ache that travels up the forearm and settles deep in the shoulder, a constant companion in the gray morning light. You are standing in the courtyard of the Holloway estate, the air thick with the scent of wet limestone and old blood. The gate is locked. It has been locked for thirty years, since the last of your kind was...
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