The Golden Circuit
The damp stone of the North Tower seeps into your bones with a patience that feels personal, as if the castle itself is trying to digest you, and you sit here on the first of October, 1348, writing by the guttering light of a tallow candle that smells of rendered fat and old wax. I am Elias Thorne, Captain of the Gate, and I am thirty-two years old, a man who has bled for this crown in the mud...
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