The Distant Blade
The sash was heavy, a weight of silk and rot that dragged against Elara’s waist like a wet rope. She held it in her hands, the fraying edges damp with a moisture that had no source, and watched the threads pull apart not with the snap of torn fabric, but with the slow, wet tear of meat separating from bone. The sound was distinct, a low, wet rippling that echoed in the stone vault of the...
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