The Golden Farce
The fire did not begin with a spark but with a sound, a low, tectonic groan that vibrated through the marrow of your bones and shattered the fragile silence of the high tower, and you woke to the smell of burning oak and the sudden, blinding orange glow that painted your skin in the colors of a dying sunset, and you knew, with a clarity that felt like a physical blow, that the kingdom you had...
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