The Golden Farce
The ledger says four hundred and twelve days. That is how long Margaret has been in the bed at the end of the hall, breathing through the tubes, waiting for a cure that costs more than the crown pays in a year. You count the coins in your pocket. They are not enough. They were never enough. You are Elias Thorne, a warden of Blackspire, and the walls of this fortress are made of stone that...
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