The Distant Affair
The air in the Great Hall of the Palace of St. Jude’s was thick with the scent of beeswax and old stone, a heavy, suffocating perfume that seemed to settle in the lungs of those who lingered too long. At the far end of the vast, vaulted chamber, beneath the gaze of painted saints whose eyes had faded to a milky grey, stood Elias Thorne. He was a man of middling years, unremarkable in stature...
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