The Distant Crown
The iron gate groaned as we pushed it open, a sound like a dying man’s last breath scraping against the throat of the world. "You feel it too, don't you, Thomas? The weight of the stone settling into your bones?" I asked, my voice sounding thin and foreign in the damp air, stripped of all the confidence I had carried through the city streets that morning. Thomas Bradshaw did not look at me. He...
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