The Golden Visit
The candle guttered in the draft, casting long, skeletal shadows across the parchment. I dipped the quill into the inkwell, the liquid black and viscous, smelling of iron and old blood. My hand did not tremble, though my chest ached with a sharp, rhythmic pain that matched the fever I was describing. I was twelve years old, and I was dying, one word at a time. The *Codex Aureus* lay open before...
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