The Golden Farce

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2026-08-19 11:16:27 -

The Golden Farce

The air smells of wet stone and old blood. You stand in the center of the rotunda. The floor is cold. Your armor chafes. It is heavy. It has always been heavy. You are a Warden. You keep the peace. Or so they tell you. You look up. The ceiling is lost in shadow. Only the faint glow of the oil lamps remains. They flicker. They breathe. A voice comes from the dark. It is soft. It is mocking....

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