The Distant Joke

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2026-08-22 17:10:07 -

The Distant Joke

Elias, the Duke’s voice cut through the morning fog, sharp as a whetstone on rusted iron, do not let me regret the cost of your father’s silence. Elias stood on the threshold of the ancestral manor, the heavy brass bird tucked into a velvet-lined case against his chest, its weight a cold, ticking anchor to his ribs. The year was 1342, and the air smelled of wet stone and decay, a scent that had...

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