The Distant Ghost

added blog Literature

2026-08-23 09:53:18 -

The Distant Ghost

The mud of the Fens did not care for the rank of a scribe, nor for the twelve years of a boy’s life. Thomas Bradshaw stood before the throne, his boots caked in grey slurry, his chin raised with a arrogance that felt less like confidence and more like a blade pressed against his own throat. King Henry, old and rotting in his velvet, watched the boy with eyes that held no warmth, only a cold,...

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