The Golden Maze
The ink had dried before the steam from the kettle had fully dissipated into the cold air of the study, leaving behind a scent of iron and old paper that seemed to settle into the very fibers of the mahogany desk. I watched the black fluid bleed into the porous surface of the parchment, a slow, irreversible marriage of color and texture that defined the finality of our separation. It was not a...
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