The Distant Blade

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 10:23:26 -

The Distant Blade

The rain in Harrow’s End did not fall; it hovered, a wet, gray mist that clung to the skin like a second, heavier coat. I was standing on the precipice of the old quarry, my boots slick with mud, holding the handle of a glass vase that had been shattered into a thousand iridescent shards. My hands were bleeding, a thin, bright crimson contrasting violently with the dull, sickly green of the...

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