The Golden Myth
The first thing I noticed was the weight of the silence, a heavy, woolen thing that pressed against the inside of my skull as I counted the hours remaining in the day. It was the fourteenth of November, and the wind outside the high, arched windows of the Guild of St. Jude was stripping the last brown leaves from the elms in the courtyard, scattering them across the cobblestones like dead...
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