The Golden Downtown
The seal is cracking. You feel the fracture line spiderwebbing across the wax, a jagged scar against the deep crimson of the king’s authority. Your fingers are trembling, not from the cold that seeps up through the stone floor of the council chamber, but from the sheer, electric weight of the object in your hand. It is a small, circular disc of gold and wax, stamped with the lion rampant, the...
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