The Distant Journey
"Is it the wind, Elias? Or is it your hands?" You wake to the sound of your own breathing, a ragged, wet thing in the small, dark room above the mason’s shop. The dream is already dissolving, leaving only the cold sensation of stone sliding against stone, a sound like a bone snapping under pressure. You sit up, and the tremor in your fingers is immediate, a fine, persistent vibration that makes...
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