The Golden Farce
The road to the monastery of Saint Jude was a ribbon of mud that tightened its grip on Elias’s boots with every step he took toward the north, where the fog clung to the pines like a burial shroud. He had walked for three days, driven by the singular, burning need to save Elara, whose lungs had begun to fill with a wet, rattling fluid that no physician in the lowlands could name or cure. In his...
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