The Distant Crown
The fire started in the basement. You remember the smell before you saw the smoke. It was the scent of old paper and wet ash, a smell that had lived in the walls of your father’s house for forty years. Now it was choking you. You were standing on the porch, the rain hammering against the shingles, watching the black pillars of smoke rise into the gray dawn. The house was burning. Your father’s...
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