The Distant Crown
I counted the stitches in the hem of my sleeve as I woke, twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five, until the number blurred into the gray light of the dormitory. The dream was there again, the golden circlet pressing against my brow, heavy with a weight that was not gold but iron, cold and absolute. I sat up, the straw mattress sighing beneath the shift of my body, and looked at my hands. They...
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