The Distant Crown
The morning light in the Great Hall of St. Jude’s was not the bright, clarifying gold of a new beginning but a pale, watery gray that seemed to seep into the very bones of the stone floor, settling into the cracks and the dust of centuries, a heavy, oppressive silence that hung in the air like a shroud draped over a body that had not yet been laid to rest. Margaret Holloway stood at the far end...
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