The Distant Joke

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2026-08-23 08:33:14 -

The Distant Joke

The invoice lay on the workbench, its ink still wet against the grain of the oak. It was a simple document, three lines of text detailing the debt owed to the Guild of Artificers for the failed commission of the previous year. The sum was forty pounds, a price that represented not just the material loss but the shame of a master who had produced a broken thing. I signed it with a hand that...

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