The Distant Wound

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 00:37:14 -

The Distant Wound

The rain did not fall. It seeped. It came from the pipes in the ceiling. It came from the walls. It came from the eyes of the men in grey coats who walked the streets of Oakhaven. The air tasted of iron and wet wool. Arthur Vane sat at his bench. The wood was slick. He wiped his hands on his apron. The apron was grey. His skin was pale. He was a cobbler. Or he had been. Now he repaired the...

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