The Distant Crown
The train hissed into the station of Oakhaven, a place that smelled of wet wool, coal smoke, and the metallic tang of old blood. You stepped off the carriage, your suitcase heavy in your hand, feeling the weight of it not just in your wrist but in the hollow of your chest. It was late autumn, the year 1923, and the air bit at your exposed skin with a sharp, industrial chill that seemed to seep...
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