The Distant Joke

added blog Literature

2026-08-21 20:00:52 -

The Distant Joke

The rain smells of iron and rot. You hold the beetle. Its shell is black, wet, slick with the mud of the King’s garden. It is dead. You killed it. Or perhaps it died in your fist. It does not matter. The beetle is the evidence. The beetle is the lie. You are the Inquisitor. You serve the Crown. The Crown serves the people. The people are afraid. Fear is a good fuel. It burns clean. It burns...

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