The Distant Blade
The ink bled into the cotton rag, spreading in a dark, capillary web that mirrored the tremor seizing my right hand, a physical rebellion against the pen I held so tightly my knuckles had gone white and stiff. I was not trying to write the word *absent*; I was trying to write the name *Thorne*, but the letters slanted and broke, the 'T' splitting into a cross, the 'h' collapsing into a hook, a...
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