The Golden Farce
The amber light of the citadel study did not warm; it preserved. It turned the dust motes into suspended gold coins, trapping Elias Thorne in a gilded cage of his own making. He sat hunched over a desk cluttered with alchemical journals, his eyes red-rimmed from fourteen hours of deciphering a text that promised to reverse the calcification of the lungs. Outside, the wind howled against the...
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