The Distant Joke
The ink on the parchment is fading, but the weight of it remains. You hold the scroll, a slender cylinder of vellum that has seen three generations of scribes and one very angry King. Your fingers, stained black at the tips, trace the faded letters of a joke. It is a simple thing, a pun on the word "death" and the word "debt," intended to lighten the mood in the war room. But to you, it is a...
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