The Golden Compass
The chandeliers in the Hall of Antiquities did not merely glow; they bled a golden, viscous light that pooled on the stone floor like spilled honey, catching the dust motes in a suspended, eternal dance that felt less like illumination and more like a slow, suffocating embrace. You stood at the center of this gilded cage, the Golden Compass resting in your palm, its brass surface warm to the...
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