The Distant Nightmare
The tower stood. It had always stood. I stood before it. My knees shook. The rain was cold. It cut my face. I did not blink. The stone was wet. It gleamed like a bruise. My name is Elias. I am a seer. Or I was. The words taste like ash. I walk the moor. The heather is black. It has died in the frost. The sky is gray. It presses down. I am looking for the gate. The tower is the gate. It is the...
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