The Distant Legend
You dream of glass. Not the soft, curved glass of a windowpane, but the sharp, cold shards of a mirror. They float in the dark, suspended in a void that smells of ozone and old blood. You reach for them. Your fingers pass through the light. You wake gasping. The sheets are soaked. The house is silent. Too silent. Your name is Elias Thorne. You are a man who has forgotten how to sleep. The...
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