The Golden Crossing

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2026-08-20 18:35:22 -

The feast was loud. The hall smelled of roasting lamb and wet wool. I sat near the fire. My hands were clean. They were always clean. I was the scribe. I recorded the births. I recorded the deaths. I did not record the truth. The truth was too heavy. The truth was a stone in my shoe. It walked with me. It never left. Outside, the rain fell. It fell on the stone streets. It fell on the thatch...

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