The Distant Wound
Act I Can a man buy a grave with paper that no longer holds the weight of the dead? Olya Popov stood in the wind, the cold biting through his coat like a needle, his breath visible in the jagged air of the Hollow. The landscape here was not silent; it screamed in shards of visible sound, a frozen storm of glass that cut the skin if one moved too quickly. He held the ledger, its pages brittle,...
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