The Golden Farce
The letter arrived on a Tuesday, the ink still wet with the authority of the State, and you knew before you even cracked the seal that the life you had built in the grey stone house on the hill was about to be dismantled, piece by piece, by hands that did not know your name but knew the coordinates of your soul. You held the parchment in your trembling fingers, the paper cold and brittle as a...
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