The Distant Affair
The ink was drying before I had finished the first line. I held the quill so tight my knuckles turned white against the parchment, the nib scratching a sound like a bone being broken. Lord Vane stood behind me, his shadow stretching long and thin across the floorboards, detaching from his heels as the clock in the tower struck the half-hour. I was twelve years old, a scribe in the High Court,...
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