The Distant Crown
The first thing I lost was the taste of my mother’s bread, and the second was the sound of the river in winter, but I did not notice until the ink had already taken them. You are counting the hours, Elias, because the quill is heavy and the hand is shaking, and the vault is cold enough to bite through the wool of your sleeve. You are fifty-two years old, and you have served the Court of...
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