The Distant Crown
The bread was hard as stone, and it tasted of ash. I chewed slowly, forcing the dry crust to yield in my teeth, aware that the act of swallowing was a small, daily surrender. Outside the thick stone walls of the keep, the wind howled across the moor, a sound like a wounded animal dragging itself over the grass. I sat in the corner of the great hall, my back against the cold masonry, my hands...
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