The Golden Myth
The iron carriage groaned against the cobblestones of the Lower Ward, a sound like a dying man’s last breath, as I watched the city of Ostrava bleed into the twilight. I had spent the better part of three years cataloging the spectral residue of the Great Purge, a task that required not merely an eye for the arcane but a heart capable of enduring the weight of invisible grief. My name is Dr....
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