The Distant Nightmare
The road out of the valley was not a path so much as a wound in the earth, a jagged scar of red clay and broken shale that cut through the dense, ancient pines of the Blackwood Ridge, a place where the air itself felt heavy with the scent of damp rot and impending snow, and I walked it alone, my boots sinking deep into the mud with every step, dragging the weight of my own mortality and the...
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