The Distant Crown

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2026-08-20 22:47:58 -

The Distant Crown

The soup was cold. It sat in the chipped blue bowl on the desk, a greyish sludge of turnip and thyme. I did not want to eat it. I wanted to be elsewhere. I wanted to be anywhere but this office. The air smelled of wet wool and old paper. It smelled of the rain that battered the leaded windows. My name is Arthur. I am a clerk. I am forty years old. My hands are dry. My heart is heavy. I looked...

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