The Distant Crown
The rain had stopped, but the mud remained. It clung to the boots of the men who stood in the courtyard of the old stone manor. I watched them from the window. My hands were steady. I did not shake. I had learned to keep my hands steady when the world was falling apart. Outside, the garden was a mess of brown and grey. The roses were gone, cut down long before I arrived. Only the thorns...
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