The Wistful Mountain

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2026-08-22 11:41:58 -

The dream was of teeth. Not mine. I woke with the taste of iron in my mouth and the sight of black stains on my fingers. They were not ink. They were blood, but they moved, pooling in the whorls of my palms like living things. I am Elias, forty-two, a scribe in the Duke’s castle, and I have stolen the forbidden bestiary. I did it for Thomas. My brother is in the debtors’ pit, his hands broken...

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