The Golden Farce
The document was a ledger, its pages yellowed by damp and stained with the rust-colored residue of alchemical runoff. Silas Vane held it under the flickering gaslight of his office, the paper trembling not from cold, but from the sheer weight of the arithmetic within. He turned the page to the final entry, where the ink had smudged into a black smear, and there, in Julian’s cramped, hurried...
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