The Golden Farce
The rain did not fall so much as it existed, a persistent, gray curtain that blurred the edges of the world until the horizon dissolved into a mist of sorrow. Elara stood at the threshold of the tavern, her hands trembling not from the cold, but from the weight of the silence that had grown within her chest over the last three days. The door creaked open, releasing the scent of wet wool, stale...
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