The Distant Crown
The bucket held exactly four gallons of water, and Elara counted the dips into the grout lines of the Blackwood estate’s foyer as a way to keep from screaming. One, two, three; the scrub brush squeaked against the linoleum, a sound like a dying animal, and the cold that seeped up through her shoes was not the damp chill of the November coast, but a biting, absolute zero that seemed to originate...
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