The Golden Maze
The ledger in the Crown’s office listed four hundred and twelve pounds, a sum that weighed more than the iron bellows in my workshop, and I had spent the last three years blowing molten silica into shapes that could not pay it off. My name is Elias, and I am a glassblower, a title that sounds grand in the chronicles of the guild but feels in the hand like a shackle of hot wire. It was the...
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