The Golden Myth
The dust in the Guild Hall was thick enough to choke on, a grey powder that settled in the creases of my skin and the folds of my tunic, but I did not blink. I stood before the Archdeacon, my hands trembling not from fear, but from the sheer weight of the parchment I held, the final blueprints for the Cathedral’s new transept, a design that had consumed the last seven years of my life. My name,...
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