The Distant Whispers

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2026-08-24 19:41:19 -

In his right hand, Elias Thorne held a loaf of bread. It was stale, the crust hard as a river stone, and the center had turned a soft, wet brown. He squeezed it, and a black liquid oozed between his fingers, slick and cold. He looked at the stain on his leather glove, then at the table where his mother, Martha, sat with her back to the fire. The manor was quiet, but it was the wrong kind of...

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