The Wistful Atlas
You are holding the hilt too loosely, and the rain is getting into your sleeves, and I am telling you that the thing in the cellar is not what you think it is, and you are looking at me with those eyes that have seen too much death to care about the living, and the mud on my boots is drying into a crust that feels like the skin of a dead man peeling away, and we are standing in the hallway of...
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