The Distant Legend
The ink had already spread past the knuckles by the time Elias Thorne opened his eyes, the black fluid pooling in the hollows of his palms and dripping onto the damp wool of his blanket. He sat up in the dark of his small cottage, the cold air of the pre-dawn hour biting at his skin, and watched the stain settle into the creases of his hands, a map of something he could not name. For twenty...
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