The Distant Wound
The bell tolled for the third time, a hollow, bronze sound that seemed to bleed into the marrow of my bones, vibrating against the damp stone of the keep. I sat alone in the infirmary, the air thick with the scent of boiled herbs and the metallic tang of old blood, waiting for the morning’s first batch of the condemned. The candles guttered in the draft, their flames stretching and snapping...
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