The Golden Maze
The rain has been falling for three days now, a steady, gray curtain that turns the cobblestones of the old district into slick, black mirrors. You walk with your head down, the collar of your heavy wool coat turned up against the chill that seems to seep into your very bones. Your boots make a rhythmic, hollow sound against the wet pavement, a beat that feels less like a step and more like a...
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