The Distant Crown
The storm broke the oak at dawn, splitting the ancient wood with a sound like a cannon shot that shook the dust from the high rafters of the scriptorium. Elias, a scribe of thirty-two years, did not look up from his work; his quill was moving in steady, rhythmic strokes, counting the lines of the decree that would secure the medical funds for his daughter, Martha, who lay in the next room...
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