The Distant Crown
The dream is always the same: you are standing in the center of the Oakhaven pit, not looking down, but looking through the stone itself, seeing the veins of coal pulse like dark arteries beneath a skin of dirt, and the sound is not a sound but a vibration that starts in your molars and ripples up to the base of your skull, a low, wet hum that tastes of iron and old blood. You wake with your...
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