The Golden Oath
You stand at the edge of the cliff, the wind tearing at your uniform like a stray dog at a bone. The golden insignia on your chest is no longer gold. It is a dull, tarnished smear, a fossil of authority that you have spent three decades trying to scrub clean. You are alone here, on the jagged lip of the North Sea, where the rocks are black and slick with salt. Below, the water churns in a...
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