The Distant Blade

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2026-08-19 09:22:03 -

The Distant Blade

The air in the apothecary shop always tasted of dried lavender and old copper, a scent that had seeped into the very grain of the oak counter where I stood for forty years, grinding mortar against pestle with the rhythmic, hollow thud of a heart that had forgotten how to beat for anything other than duty. I was Silas Vane, the Keeper of the Tinctures, a man whose hands were permanently stained...

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