The Golden Maze
The glass shatters. This is not a metaphor, nor is it a premonition; it is a sudden, violent fact that occurs in the hollow of your throat, right as the heavy oak doors of the High Chamber groan open beneath the weight of the Lord Chancellor’s guards. You are standing in the center of the circular floor, the mosaic tiles cold and slick under your boots, and in your hands you hold the Prism of...
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