The Golden Ritual
The bell in the tower did not ring for the dead, but it tolled for the living, a heavy, bronze-throated groan that vibrated in the teeth of everyone in the village of Oakhaven. It was a sound that tasted of iron and old rain. Margaret stood on the threshold of the stone church, her fingers white-knuckled around the hilt of a dagger that did not belong to her, watching the fog roll off the moor...
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