The Distant Joke

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2026-08-23 06:54:48 -

The Distant Joke

The third day of the Feast of Lanterns, 1240. I am forty-two years old, and the stone beneath my back is cold enough to seep into the marrow. Above me, through the narrow grate of the ventilation shaft, I can hear the drums of the city celebrating, a rhythmic thumping that feels less like music and more like the beating of a heart about to burst. I have come here with one specific purpose: to...

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