The Golden Oath
Eleanor woke with the taste of ash in her mouth, though the fire in the hearth was dead. The air in the cell was thick, a physical weight that pressed against her lungs, smelling of damp stone, old iron, and the sweet, cloying rot of the cabbage soup served three days prior. She did not know how long she had been sleeping. Time had lost its shape here, crushed flat under the boot of the...
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