The Golden Myth
The shuttle in my hands weighed more than it had the day I first learned to pull it through the warp, a heavy, iron-shod weight that felt like a dead bird against my palm. I am Elias, a master weaver in Bruges, and I have spent the last twenty years guarding a secret that tastes like copper in the back of my throat. The year is 1342, and the English army is moving north, their banners a dull...
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