The Distant Crown
Chapter One "You're bleeding on the registry, Félicité, and the ink is already drying." The words hung in the humid air of the opium registry office, a place that smelled of damp paper and the cloying, metallic sweetness of rotting cane. Félicité Laraque wiped his nose with a handkerchief that had turned the color of rust, his fingers trembling not from fear, but from the cold draught that...
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