The Distant Wound
The coal dust settles in the rafters of the cellar like a fine, grey snow, coating the necks of the glass bottles that line the low brick shelf where you keep your secret. It is November in the industrial sprawl of Ashworth, a town that breathes soot into its lungs and coughs it back out as rain, and you are Elara, thirty-two years old, a widow whose hands have grown rough and permanent from...
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