The Distant Crown
The parchment lay on the oak table, its edges curled from the damp air of the harvest hall, and Elias read the tally of grain owed to the mill for the autumn quarter, his thumb tracing the ink until the number blurred into a smudge. It was a standard document, a ledger entry that meant nothing to the thirty-year-old miller except that it represented the weight of his life, the heavy, grinding...
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