The Distant Affair
The rain had not stopped for three days. It drummed against the slate roof of the keep, a relentless, hollow rhythm that made the stones weep. Captain Elias Thorne stood by the window. He watched the water run down the glass in thick, distorted streaks. Outside, the moat was black and swollen. A single white heron stood in the mud. It did not fly. It waited. It had been there since dawn. Elias...
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