The Golden Maze
The first thing you notice is the smell of the rot, a thick, sweet cloying scent that rises from the floorboards of the apothecary and settles in your throat, tasting of copper and old blood. You are Elias, forty-two years old, and your hands, which have once been steady enough to peel the skin of a hazelnut without a scratch, now tremble with a violence that makes the glass jars rattle against...
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