The Distant Blade

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2026-08-23 11:19:55 -

The Distant Blade

The count was always the same: forty stitches in the hem of my shirt, twelve drops of tincture in the glass, and three hours of silence before the magistrate’s shadow fell across the threshold. I woke with the taste of copper and dried blood on my tongue, my fingers slick and stained red with the apothecary’s dye, a color that had seeped into the whorls of my skin as if it were part of my own...

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