The Golden Visit
The hall is thick with the scent of roasted chestnuts and beeswax, a heavy, cloying perfume that hangs in the air like a visible weight. You are standing in the center of the room, your hands clasped behind your back, your fingers white-knuckled against the wool of your doublet. It is the feast of the Guild, the annual gathering where the old masters look upon the new blood and decide who will...
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