The Golden Maze
The wall is thick. Stone. Old. It breathes a cold that bites the lungs. I am here. Alone. The silence is a weight. It presses. It holds. I wait. The door is iron. Rusted. It groans. A sound like a dying man. I hear the lock. The turn. The click. He enters. Lord Ashworth. He is tall. He wears black. Silk. It whispers. His face is pale. Smooth. Like wax. He looks at me. His eyes are dry. They are...
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