The Golden Master

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2026-08-17 11:41:59 -

The Golden Master

The fire started in the rafters. It did not begin with a spark, nor a match. It began with the smell of rotting straw and the sudden, violent heat that pressed against your cheek. You were in the cellar. You knew it was the cellar by the dampness that soaked through your wool dress. You knew it was the cellar because the light above was turning red. Not the red of a sunset. The red of a wound....

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