The Distant Wound

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2026-08-21 17:43:23 -

The Distant Wound

The air in the Atrium of the High Court smelled of dust and old iron. I stood by the pillar, my hand resting on the cold stone, feeling the roughness of it against my palm. It was a habit I had kept for thirty years. I was a Warden, one of the many who kept the silence of the Hall. My name was Thomas, though in this place, names were merely sounds we made to pass the time. The true weight of my...

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