The Golden Farce
The ink was still wet on the parchment when the silence in the Obsidian Court broke, a sound like a bone snapping under the weight of a cathedral, and I looked up from the King’s final edict to see that Aldric had slumped forward, his face pressed into the vellum, his eyes staring into the middle distance with a fixed, terrible clarity. The Gilded Mirror, that towering artifact of polished...
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