The Golden Master
The morning the glass shattered, it was not with a sharp, piercing crack that would have sent a scream through the corridors of the Hall, but rather with a dull, wet thud, a sound like a ripe fruit dropping from a high branch onto the hard stone of the courtyard, a sound that seemed to absorb the light around it and leave a hollow silence in its wake, a silence that Margaret felt in her teeth...
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