The Distant Blade
The barn door creaks open, a sound like a bone snapping under the weight of years, and the smell of damp straw and old wool hits you before the cold does. You are standing in the center of the hayloft, the air thick with the dust of decades, and around you, the silence is not empty but heavy, pressing against your eardrums like deep water. Below, the floorboards groan under the weight of the...
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