The Distant Wound
Elias, you look like a man who has swallowed a stone and is too proud to spit it out. The voice belonged to Silas, my master of twenty years, and it cut through the humid air of the apothecary with the sharpness of a flint struck against steel. I stood before the counter, my hands trembling not from fear, but from the sheer, crushing weight of the vial in my palm. It was empty, yet it felt as...
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