The Golden Farce
The rain in the city of Aethelgard did not wash things clean; it merely made the grime slicker, turning the cobblestones into mirrors that reflected the bruised sky and the towering, gothic spires of the magistrate’s court, a structure that stood less like a building and more like a verdict cast in stone and iron, looming over the narrow streets with a silence that felt heavy on the chest. You...
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