The Golden Farce
The mud in the village of Oakhaven was black and thick, sucking at Elian’s boots as he stood in the center of the burning square. Smoke, acrid and yellow, stung his eyes, blurring the silhouette of the houses that had been homes only hours before. He clutched the iron key in his left hand, its cold weight a sharp contrast to the heat radiating from the collapsing roof behind him. The key...
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