The Golden Farce
You wake in the bell tower, the air thick with the scent of old rope and wet stone. The dream is still clinging to you, a grey mist that refuses to lift. You remember the face of the boy who climbed the spire with you, his laughter ringing like a cracked bell, but his name is already slipping through your fingers like water. He was there. You were certain. But now, in the waking world, he is...
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