The Golden Myth
The bell tolled four times. It was a heavy sound, iron striking iron, vibrating in the floorboards of the small office. Elias Thorne sat at his desk. The wood was cold against his back. He watched the dust motes dance in the single shaft of light. They moved slowly. Indifferently. He was a clerk. His job was to record the deaths of the town. A simple task. Ink and paper. Names and dates. But...
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