The Distant Joke

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2026-08-22 14:53:49 -

The Distant Joke

The candle had burned down to a stub of wax, and I counted the hours remaining until the solstice: four, perhaps five. My lungs were a cage of rusted iron, every breath a drag against the wet, black cough that had settled in my chest since the plague took Master Aldous. I sat at the long table in the Duke of York’s great hall, the feast before me a blur of roasted swan and spiced wine, yet I...

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