The Golden Quest
The frost is thick. It coats the glass of the counting house in a lace of white. You watch it form. You watch it spread. It is a slow, silent invasion. The cold does not ask. It takes. You are the Keeper of the Ledger. You are the hand that signs. You are the eye that sees the debt. The debt is not in gold. The debt is in breath. The debt is in the silence that follows the strike of the gong....
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