The Distant Joke

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2026-08-22 12:01:09 -

The Distant Joke

The dream was not of her face, but of the ink, black and viscous, pooling in the hollows of his knuckles, a fever that had kept Elias Thorne shivering in the damp antechamber of the Duke’s court for three days. He woke to the smell of wet wool and the sharp, metallic tang of fear, his head throbbing with a rhythm that matched the dripping of condensation from the stone arches overhead. Lord...

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