The Golden Farce

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2026-08-24 08:35:43 -

The Golden Farce

The count was simple, brutal arithmetic: three hundred and twelve stitches in the lining of the cloak, each one pulling tight against the thread, a weight of labor that sat heavy on my shoulders like the stone of the vault door I had just forced open. I had been awake for four hours, or perhaps five; time in the infirmary moves like honey, thick and slow, and the candle on the desk had burned...

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