The Distant Journey
The jar broke on the cobblestones with a sound like a bone snapping, and the red paste that oozed out onto the gray wet stone looked less like jam and more like a fresh wound, a bright, viscous accusation against the muted, soot-stained world of Harrowgate. I stood there, my hands trembling not from the cold that bit through my wool coat but from the sheer, terrifying weight of what I had just...
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