The Distant Wound

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2026-08-20 05:37:53 -

The Distant Wound

The air in the Hall of Whispers did not smell of dust, as one might expect of a structure so ancient and so deeply embedded in the bedrock of the city, but rather of wet iron and the cloying, sweet rot of lilies that had been pressed between the pages of a book long since forgotten. Margaret Holloway walked through the corridors with the careful, measured gait of a woman who knew that her every...

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