The Distant Crown

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2026-08-19 08:52:02 -

The Distant Crown

The hall smells of roasted swan and stale woodsmoke, a thick, cloying perfume that hangs in the air like a shroud, and you sit at the high table with your hands folded in your lap, the silver rings on your fingers cold against your skin, watching the feast unfold with the detached precision of a man who has already seen his own end. The torches gutter in their iron sconces, casting long,...

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