The Golden Maze
I dreamt of the glass. It was a shard. Small. Sharp. Blue. I held it in my hand. My fingers bled. The blood was red. The glass was cold. I woke up. The room was dark. The stone walls were old. Moss grew in the cracks. I am old now. My bones ache. The air is thin. I live in the tower. The high tower. The King’s tower. I am the Keeper. That is my title. No one calls me by name. I was not always...
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