The Golden Downtown
You stand at the threshold of the keep, where the stone breathes a cold, damp sigh that settles into the marrow of your bones, and you feel the weight of the iron gauntlet on your hand as it presses against the rough-hewn wood of the gate, a sensation that is less about touch and more about the transmission of a lifetime’s accumulated silence into the solid, indifferent mass of the door, which...
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