The Distant Wound

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2026-08-22 05:46:55 -

The Distant Wound

The feast hall smelled of boiled turnip and wet wool, a thick, suffocating scent that clung to the back of your throat like a secret you couldn’t swallow. Around you, the long oak table groaned under the weight of clay plates and pewter mugs, the clatter of cutlery against stone the only music in the low, vaulted room. You sit at the far end, your hands folded in your lap, the fabric of your...

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