The Distant Affair

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2026-08-23 01:56:37 -

The feast was a blur of gold and grease, the smell of roasted swan and stale wine thick enough to choke a man, yet I sat at the edge of the table with my hands trembling, my eyes fixed on the small, oil-slicked shard of bone resting in the center of the trestle. It was the hour of noon in the scriptorium of St. Jude’s, and the Abbot, a man whose face was a map of old grudges and newer hungers,...

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