The Golden Farce
The ink on the parchment is still wet, a dark smear under your thumbnail as you press the document flat against the oak desk. You are Elias Thorne, forty-two years old, and you have come to beg for your brother’s life, or at least his freedom. The High Magistrate sits behind the desk, a man whose face is as rigid and unyielding as the stone of the city he rules. He does not look up. He is...
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