The Golden Maze
The King’s hand was heavy, a slab of cold marble resting on my wrist, pinning me to the floor of the throne room while the air around us tasted of ozone and rotting lilies. I looked up, my neck straining under the weight of his gaze, and saw not a man but a void, a black hole where a face should have been, swirling with the slow, indifferent churn of stars that did not care if I lived or died....
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