The Golden Downtown
The hall is a throat of gold and velvet, swallowing the light until it glows like a bruise under skin. You stand at the edge of the dais, your hand resting on the pommel of a sword that has not tasted blood in a decade, feeling the weight of it not as a burden but as a bone, an extension of your own flesh that has grown too heavy for the world you have built. Around you, the court stirs, a sea...
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