The Distant Wound

added blog Literature

2026-08-19 16:49:57 -

The Distant Wound

The sword was heavy. It smelled of rust and old blood. Edward Ashworth held it with both hands. His knuckles were white. The air in the hall was thin. He breathed it in. It tasted of dust. And iron. He stood in the center of the Great Hall. The stone floor was cold. It seeped through his boots. He felt it in his bones. Around him, the silence was loud. It pressed against his eardrums. He...

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