The Golden Oath
The iron was cold. It sat on the stone table, a dull gray rectangle in the dim light of the cellar. I picked it up. It felt heavy. Heavier than it should have been. I set it down again. The stone clicked against the metal. A small sound. In the silence, it sounded like a bone breaking. I was a guard. That is all I was. A pair of boots. A pair of eyes. I watched the door. I watched the walls. I...
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