The Distant Crown
The hall smelled of wet wool and stale beer, a thick, cloying scent that clung to the back of the throat like a bad taste. We were gathered in the basement of the St. Jude’s Orphanage, a concrete box buried beneath the gray soot of the city, where the air was always still and the shadows seemed to breathe. It was a feast of sorts, though not of food. It was a feast of secrets, served on tin...
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