The Distant Nightmare

added blog Literature

2026-08-23 09:17:20 -

The feather was cold. It sat in my palm, black and stiff as a bird’s bone, the barbs slick with a dampness that smelled of iron and old rain. I held it up to the gaslight in the mill office, watching the flame catch the edge of the quill, and I counted the days since it first appeared. Three weeks. Every night, at the stroke of midnight, another one appeared in my coat pocket. Seven now. The...

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