The Distant Wound
The rain in the valley did not fall so much as it hovered, a suspended curtain of grey mist that clung to the skin and seeped into the bones, blurring the line between the wet earth and the dry, hollow interior of the mind. I stood at the threshold of the Old Library, the building’s stone facade pitted by decades of acid rain and neglect, and felt the weight of the years pressing against my...
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