The Distant Crown

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2026-08-20 16:14:53 -

The Distant Crown

The rain had not stopped for three days. It slicked the cobblestones of Blackwood, turning the street into a mirror of grey sky and broken gutters. I walked with my coat collar up. The air tasted of wet wool and iron. I carried a box. It was heavy. Inside sat a row of blackbirds. They were still. Their eyes were open. They did not blink. They waited. I am a constable. That is my name. That is...

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