The Distant Cartograph
The coat was red. Not crimson. Not scarlet. Red. The color of dried blood. The color of the earth after rain. It hung on the hook by the door. It had been there for a century. Or perhaps a millennium. Time moved strangely in the Holloway estate. Elias stood before it. He was a warrior. Not of steel and shield. Of spirit. Of will. He had fought the silence. He had fought the dark. He had fought...
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