The Distant Joke

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2026-08-22 02:42:52 -

The Distant Joke

The gate is locked. You know it is locked. The iron bars are rusted into the stone, a lattice of decay that has held its breath for centuries. You stand on the other side, your hand resting on the cold metal. The air smells of wet earth and old blood. This is the courtyard of the keep. It is a place that does not exist on maps. It is a place that exists in the marrow. You are a soldier. Or you...

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