The Golden Circuit
The leather of my gauntlets is cracking along the knuckles, a dry, papery sound that echoes in the silence of the keep. I am sitting by the cold hearth, my hands resting on my thighs, feeling the stiffness in the joints that no amount of salve can cure. It is a Tuesday, or perhaps a Wednesday; the days have lost their distinct shapes here in the high castle, stretching out like taffy pulled too...
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