The Golden Maze
The brass buttons of my tunic had been polished until they were bright as small, cold eyes, reflecting the dim, dusty light of the antechamber where I sat alone with the weight of my own silence pressing against my ribs. I remember the smell of the place, a thick, cloying mixture of old paper, beeswax, and the faint, metallic tang of fear that seemed to seep into the very floorboards, a scent...
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