The Golden Farce
The tremor did not shake the house so much as it tore the foundation loose from the earth, a violent shudder that sent the crucible spilling molten silver across the floorboards of Elias Thorne’s workshop. Elias, a man of forty whose hands had once been steady enough to etch the veins of a leaf in pure metal, stood frozen as the east wall groaned and collapsed inward, burying the lower half of...
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