The Distant Affair
The iron was cold. That was the first thing I noticed. Not the smell of the damp earth, nor the groan of the gate above us, but the chill of the bar in my hand. It was a heavy thing, forged in the smithy of the old lord, now rusted into a dark, silent beast. I held it tight. My fingers bled. The blood mixed with the dirt on the handle. I did not wipe it away. We were in the deep. The place they...
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