The Golden Farce
The coin was heavy in your hand, cold and final, a promise you had not earned. You stood alone in the shadows of the Oakhaven armory, the silence pressing against your eardrums until it hurt. You were twelve years old, small for your age, with hands that trembled not from cold but from a rage that felt like a bruise under the skin. You wanted the gold. You wanted the new sword. You wanted Sir...
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