The Distant Joke

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 13:30:51 -

The Distant Joke

The banquet hall smelled of roasted quail and stale ambition. Lord Blackwood sat at the head of the long oak table, his face a mask of pleasant indifference. He was a man who collected things. Not books or art. People. He collected their silences. He collected their debts. He collected the way their hands trembled when he spoke. At the far end of the table, Elias Thorne picked at his crust....

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