The Distant Wound

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2026-08-20 20:48:51 -

The Distant Wound

The air in the high tower of the Citadel of Aethelgard did not smell of stone or damp earth, as one might expect of a fortress built into the living rock of the northern cliffs, but rather of a cloying, metallic sweetness that clung to the back of the throat and settled in the lungs like fine ash, a scent that Margaret Ashworth had learned to associate not with decay, but with the sterile,...

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