The Distant Crown

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2026-08-19 21:14:49 -

The Distant Crown

The glass was cold in my hand. It sat on the windowsill of the tower, a jagged shard of blue that caught the grey light of the city. I held it tight. My knuckles turned white. The wind howled down from the spires, tearing at the hems of my tunic. Below, the streets of Ashworth were a tangle of mud and smoke. People moved like ants. They did not look up. They never looked up. Old Thomas stood in...

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