The Golden Quest
The bell above the door did not ring. It clanged, a dull, heavy sound that vibrated in your teeth. You were counting the grains of salt in the bowl when it happened. One, two, three. The rhythm was a prayer. The rhythm was a wall. Margaret stood in the doorway. She wore the grey wool of the Order, the hem stained with the red mud of the lower fields. Her face was pale, mapped with the fine...
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