The Golden Farce
The fire did not begin with a spark, but with a silence so profound it seemed to swallow the very air of the old estate, leaving only the scent of wet ash and the trembling of the heavy oak beams that had stood for three centuries. Elias Thorne stood in the center of the grand hall, his hands still smoking from the hearth he had tended for forty years, watching the golden light of the setting...
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