The Golden Maze
The ink in my quill had dried three days ago, but I kept dipping it into the well, watching the black water spread across the parchment like a bruise. I am Elias, a scribe in the stone fortress of Lord Vane, and I have forty-two years of service to show for it, a pension promised by the old crown, and a winter solstice deadline that looms over me like a guillotine. I need to finish the...
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