The Golden Song
Act I Zoran Ionescu’s hands shook as he gripped the handle of the cracked golden spoon, the metal cold and heavy against his sweating palms. He stood in the center of the medieval court kitchen, the stone floor slick with grease and the shadow of his own fear, while the Head Cook, a man named Aram whose face was a map of old scars, sneered from the doorway. The assembled staff watched, their...
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