The Golden Farce
The journey began not with a step but with a breath, a long, shuddering exhalation that seemed to pull the very air from the lungs of the world, leaving a vacuum filled only by the scent of ozone and old, rotting paper. Thomas Whitmore walked, or perhaps he floated, through a landscape that defied the geometry of any map he had ever studied, a place where the horizon was not a line but a...
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