The Golden Farce
The bell did not ring; it cracked. A sound like a spine snapping under a boot echoed through the Great Hall of the Citadel. The bronze mouth, ancient and heavy, hung suspended in the stone throat of the tower, shivering. Below, the assembly of the High Court froze. They were men and women of iron wills and velvet tongues, dressed in the rigid armor of protocol. They looked up, not with horror,...
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