The Distant Crown
Elias Thorne’s fingers were black to the wrist, the grime packed deep into the whorls of his skin, as he lifted the iron bucket from the well. The water inside was not water. It was a thick, viscous sludge, the color of old blood, swirling with a slow, hypnotic motion that defied the stillness of the night air. He held the bucket up to the moonlight, which was thin and pale, cutting through the...
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