The Distant Crown
The parchment was brittle, the ink faded to a brownish grey, and the seal was cracked, yet you read it as if it were a verdict. You held the document of Thomas’s execution in your hands, your fingers trembling not from cold, but from the sheer, crushing weight of the lie written in the Bishop’s hand. The smell of the cathedral was thick, a cloying mix of beeswax, damp stone, and the lingering,...
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