The Golden Farce
The chisel felt dead in Elias’s hand, a sliver of steel gone cold and useless against the grain of the mahogany. He set it down on the workbench, the wood of the table scarred with decades of knife marks and spilled lacquer. Outside, the rain hammered against the palace windows, a relentless drumming that vibrated through the floorboards and into his bones. He was thirty-five years old, and for...
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