The Golden Farce
The dream was always the same, a recurring geometry of gold and ash that Sir Aldric had endured for thirty years since his induction into the Order of the Sun, where the spire of a fortress he had never seen stood tall against a sky that bled into nothingness, only to crumble into a fine, suffocating powder that coated his tongue with the taste of old copper. He woke in the damp straw of his...
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