The Distant Nightmare
The cup was filled to the brim, and the liquid inside shimmered with a pale, silver light that did not belong to the afternoon sun. Sir Aldric counted the drops as they fell from the rim, one, two, three, before he tipped it into his brother’s mouth. The wasting sickness had taken Edmund’s voice first, then his strength, leaving only the hollow architecture of a man who had once led the...
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