The Distant Blade

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2026-08-19 17:25:20 -

The Distant Blade

The glass was cold. It sat on the table. Mud and silt. Thick. Dark. It was not wine. It was not water. It was the eye of a fish. Or a soul. Who knew? Here, in the Hall of Mirrors, Who knew what was real? "You look tired, Thomas." The voice was dry. Like leaves in a wind. It came from the corner. From the shadow. Thomas did not look. He kept his eyes on the glass. The liquid swirled. Slowly....

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