The Golden Farce

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2026-08-25 01:04:53 -

The Golden Farce

The air in the old chateau tasted of wet ash and iron. I was thirty-two years old, and I had spent the last decade cataloging the dead. The building was half-collapsed, the roof open to the grey sky of the Auvergne, where the dead volcanoes stood like broken teeth against the horizon. General Moreau stood in the center of the main hall, his boots caked in mud that had nothing to do with this...

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