The Distant Crown
The stone is singing again, Elias, can you not hear it? It is a low, grinding sound, like a millstone turning on its axis, and it is coming up through the floorboards, through the soles of my shoes, into the marrow of my bones. Clara’s voice was thin, stretched over the tension of the room, her hand gripping the edge of the table where the wood had warped from the damp. She was coughing, a wet,...
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