The Golden Circuit
The letter lay upon the oak table, its edges softened by the dampness of the cellar air, and as the Keeper of the Larder unfolded the parchment with hands that trembled not from age but from a profound, ancestral exhaustion, he felt the weight of the silence pressing against his eardrums like the depth of a frozen lake beneath a thin crust of ice. It was a directive from the High Steward,...
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