The Distant Joke
The morning my father departed for the high court of King Alistair, the sky was the color of a bruise that had long since forgotten how to hurt, a pale, swollen violet that stretched unbroken over the cobblestones of our estate, and I stood at the gate holding the only thing I had been allowed to take, a single, rough-hewn piece of quartz that my father had chipped from the riverbank years ago,...
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