The Distant Crown

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2026-08-17 13:11:43 -

The Distant Crown

The ink did not dry. It bled into the parchment like a wound that refused to close, the black pigment spreading in jagged, arterial veins across the surface. I sat in the center of the Scriptorium, the air thick with the smell of oak gall and old dust, my hands trembling not from cold, but from a terror that had settled into my marrow long before the first stroke was made. Around me, the other...

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