The Distant Blade
The glass shard was not merely a piece of broken ornamentation, but the very marrow of her being, a jagged splinter of silence that had grown into the flesh of her soul during the long, grey exodus from the old world to this new, unforgiving one, and as she sat in the dim, dust-choked library of the ancestral home, the air around her tasted of ozone and old blood, and the wind outside did not...
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