The Golden Farce

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2026-08-20 17:50:09 -

The Golden Farce

The road was long. It was wet. It was old. Cillian walked. His boots were heavy. They were soaked. He pulled his cloak tight. The wind bit. It did not stop. It never stopped. He was a glassmaker. He made vases. He made bowls. He made cups. He made things that held water. He made things that held light. He did not make things that held souls. Or so he thought. He walked to the village of...

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