The Golden Farce
The rain in the capital did not fall so much as it was exhaled by the gray sky, a persistent, cold mist that settled into the bones of the stone walls and the wool of the travelers' coats. Elias Thorne, a man whose face had been worn smooth by decades of silent observation, stood at the threshold of the High Court, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his heavy, threadbare cloak. He was not...
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