The Iron Brand
The iron smelled like a hospital. That was the first thing Elinor registered when she woke to the weight on her shoulders—Margaret Crowley's hand, knuckles white, pinning her left arm to the spinning wheel. The second was the smell of burning flesh, hot and coppery, already curling from her right cheek. "Hold her," Margaret said to the butler, a man named Hemsley who had agreed to this for a...
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