The Distant Crown
The letter from the bank arrived on a Tuesday, its seal heavy and black as dried blood. Elias Thorne held it in his hand, the paper trembling not from cold but from the rhythmic pulse that emanated from the ancient oak in the front yard. The tree did not sway in the wind; it beat. A faint, bioluminescent glow throbbed beneath the bark, synchronized with the slow, labored breathing of his...
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