Fleeing the intolerable glare of another weekday morning, you take the spiral stair that runs around the elven bulk of the Treehouse, and after hours of climbing, reach the Primrose Door. The light within the Tree is soft as syrup, spilling across a realm of marble, gold, and glass. Here the Sages of Rock Paper Shotgun belabour the decades debating the mysteries of creation, such as whether "Nvidia" should be written in all capitals. But what's this? The arching velvet sanctum lies empty.
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