The Distant Wound
"Speak it, or the ink will speak for you, and then we both bleed." The Master’s voice was dry as the parchment beneath my fingertips, a sound like sand shifting in an empty hourglass, and I stood before the desk in the back stairs of the manor where the air smelled of damp wool and old iron, my hands trembling not from cold but from the weight of the ledger that lay open before me, its pages...
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