The Distant Legend
You hold the name in your mouth like a stone that has been smoothed by a thousand years of river flow, but the texture is wrong, gritty and sharp, scratching against the enamel of your teeth, and you realize with a cold, visceral shock that the weight of it is crushing the breath out of your lungs before you have even spoken the first syllable. The air here does not behave as air should; it is...
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