The Golden Maze
The letter lay on the desk, the wax seal cracked, the parchment stiff with cold. I read it twice, the ink shifting slightly as I spoke the words aloud, a subtle writhing that betrayed the lie in my own throat. "I am confident, Lord Vane, that the solution is within reach," I had written, and the ink had curled into a knot of black sludge, refusing to dry. It was the winter solstice, three days...
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