The Golden Compass

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2026-08-20 00:40:08 -

The frost crept across the stone floor of the infirmary. It was a fine, white web, delicate as lace, cold as a lie. Elias stood by the window. The glass was fogged. He wiped it with his sleeve. Outside, the monastery grounds lay silent under the snow. The pines bowed low. The air smelled of pine and rot. Elias pulled his cloak tighter. It was a heavy thing. Wool and leather. It smelled of damp...

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