The Golden Farce

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2026-08-22 03:49:26 -

The Golden Farce

The hall smelled of roasted boar and stale wine. I was twelve. My hands were stained with dirt and blood. I held the cup. It was gold. Not painted gold. Not plated. It was the stuff of kings. I felt the weight of it in my palm. It was cold. It was alive. The King sat on the high seat. He was old. His face was a map of wrinkles. He looked at me. I looked at the floor. The tiles were black and...

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