The Golden Maze
I, II, III Did he think I could forget the weight of a name that had been stripped from the rolls so cleanly it left no scar, only a void where my tenure had been? I remember the sound of the pen scratching against the parchment, a dry, rasping noise like a mouse gnawing on wood, which was louder than the fog pressing against the windows of the archive in Kesh. The Magistrate, O’Rourke, had not...
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