The Golden Farce

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2026-08-22 00:53:16 -

The Golden Farce

The ink on the parchment was still wet when I signed my name. It was a blue-black sludge, thick as tar, and it smeared slightly under the tip of my quill. I had traveled three days by horseback to reach the Citadel of Aethelgard, a fortress of grey stone that sat like a tumor on the cliffs overlooking the River Ouse. I was there to appeal a sentence. The sentence was death. The crime was...

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