The Distant Nightmare
The house stood in the valley like a broken tooth. It was old. Older than the stone. Older than the names of the kings who had built it. The mortar was black. The windows were blind. It smelled of wet ash and dried blood. Elias walked up the hill. His legs burned. The air was thin. He was not young. He had left his country forty years ago. He had left his name. He had left his face. But he had...
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