The Distant Crown

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2026-08-18 20:00:23 -

The Distant Crown

The air in the scriptorium smelled of damp wool, dried oak gall ink, and the slow, sweet rot of parchment, a scent that had settled into the marrow of my bones until it was indistinguishable from my own breath. I sat hunched over the vellum, the quill trembling slightly in my ink-stained fingers, while the heavy silence of the abbey broke only by the scratch of the scribe’s pen and the distant,...

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