The Golden Maze
The fever took you on a Tuesday, when the fog lay thick and grey over the moor, a heavy wool blanket that smothered the breath of the wind. You were a scholar of the old languages, a man who found comfort in the rigid grammar of dead empires, yet here you were, shivering in a room that smelled of damp stone and burnt tallow, your mind unraveling like a frayed rope. The cause was not a virus,...
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