The Distant Joke

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2026-08-19 06:32:41 -

The Distant Joke

The dream always began with the rain. It was not the gentle, cleansing kind that poets sing of, but a cold, relentless slate-gray deluge that turned the world into a blur of wet stone and dying wood. In the dream, I stood in the courtyard of the Blackstone Keep, a fortress that had no right to exist, yet felt more solid than the ground beneath my feet. The walls were high, black as obsidian,...

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