The Golden Farce
You are holding the ledger, you see, and you are shaking, not because of the cold that has settled into the marrow of your bones this November, but because the ink is still wet on the final page, a glistening, black tear that has not yet dried into the paper, and you know, with a certainty that feels like a physical blow to the chest, that the numbers do not add up, that the gold you have spent...
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