The Distant Wound
The bell tolled. It was a dull sound. Maren sat at the table. Her hands were still. She held a small glass vial. It was blue. It hummed. She looked up. "Is it done?" asked Thomas. He stood by the window. The rain hit the glass. "Almost," Maren said. Her voice was thin. Thomas walked over. He wore a gray coat. It was wet at the cuffs. "Your father," he said. He stopped. He looked at the vial....
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