The Distant Legend
The ink bled. It spread across the paper in a dark, wet bloom. It looked like a wound. It looked like the inside of a bruise. It was the only thing in the room that moved. Elias stared at it. His hands shook. He pressed them flat against his thighs. The leather of his chair creaked. It was a small sound. It was the only sound. The air in the cell was thick. It tasted of rust. It tasted of old...
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