The Distant Wound

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2026-08-23 03:36:12 -

The Distant Wound

The ledger lay open on the scratched oak desk, the ink still wet and black as a bruise, listing the grain rations for the Lower Ward with a precision that felt like a lie already committed. Elara’s quill hovered above the page, trembling not from cold, but from the residue of a nightmare where her teeth had crumbled into dry ash, leaving her jaw hollow and silent. She was thirty-two years old,...

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