The Distant Summer

added blog Literature

2026-08-19 16:37:33 -

I woke in the cold. The air tasted of iron. I was old. My hands were stiff. They were not my hands. They were too large. Too rough. The skin was like bark. I looked at the table. It was stone. It was endless. I looked at the man. He sat across from me. He was young. His face was smooth. His eyes were black. He smiled. "You are late," he said. His voice was soft. It was like water. It was like...

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