The Golden Farce

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2026-08-18 12:27:01 -

The Golden Farce

The ink was dry, or so it seemed, but the parchment still held the damp chill of the chancel floor where it had lain, folded into a square no larger than a man’s palm. I held it up to the grey light filtering through the stained glass of the chapel of Saint Jude, the patron of lost causes, and watched the letters bleed slightly into the fibers. They were not words in any language I had studied...

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