The Golden Quest
The rain on the slate roof was a constant, rhythmic drumming that I had long since stopped hearing, much like the creak of the floorboards under my feet. I sat in the center of the workshop, the air thick with the scent of varnish and old wood, surrounded by the silent ghosts of a hundred unsold commissions. My hands, stained permanently with walnut and cherry, rested on the workbench. They...
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