The Distant Nightmare
The pickaxe head struck the stone with a dull, hollow thud that vibrated up Elias Thorne’s arms and settled in his teeth. He did not blink. In the dream, the well had always shattered into black glass, a fracture that ran not through the water but through the light itself, leaving the village suspended in a cold, brittle silence. He wiped the sweat from his brow with a forearm that felt too...
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