The Golden Crossing
You are standing at the edge of the velvet rope, the cord worn thin and frayed at the ends, a path that once seemed solid now dissolving into the dust of the marble floor beneath your boots. The air in the Grand Hall is thick, stale with the scent of old perfume and the metallic tang of anxiety that seems to cling to the fabric of your uniform like a second skin. You hold the rope in your left...
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