The Distant Legend
Margaret stood in the kitchen. The house was quiet. It was a heavy, old quiet. The kind that settles in the walls. She held a shard of blue glass in her palm. It cut into her flesh. She did not move. The blood was warm. It mixed with the dust. Outside, the mill gears turned. The iron giants of the valley. They never stopped. They chewed the grain. They crushed the stone. They ground the world...
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