The Distant Joke

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2026-08-23 08:44:21 -

The Distant Joke

The parchment was damp, the ink running in brown rivulets where the rain had seeped through the wax seal. Elias Thorne held it against his chest, his hand trembling not from fear but from the cold that had settled into his joints three days ago. He stood before the massive oak doors of the Abbey of St. Jude, the stone walls slick with a grime that looked like dried blood. The courtyard was...

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