The Distant Crown
The fog in Harrowgate did not merely obscure the city; it consumed it, a thick, gray wool that strangled the light and turned the cobblestones into slick, treacherous mirrors. Elara Vance stood on the balcony of her late husband’s house, her breath coming in short, ragged hitches that rattled deep within her chest. She was thirty years old, a widow of three years, and she was dying. The...
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