The Golden Quest
The frost had crept up the windowpanes of the conservatory, a delicate web of ice that turned the midday sun into a fractured kaleidoscope of cold light. Margaret stood by the radiator, her back to the room, her hands gripping the iron bars until her knuckles turned white, not from the cold, but from a tension that lived in the muscles of her shoulder blades, a knot of anticipation that had...
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