The Golden Suspect

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2026-08-18 15:05:16 -

The bell tolled the third hour. It was a low, braying sound that seemed to vibrate in the marrow of Margot’s bones. She sat in the infirmary, her hands folded in her lap. The table was oak. It was scarred. The air smelled of boiled linseed and rot. Outside, the rain lashed the stone windows. It was a grey day. A dead day. Margot was the Apothecary’s daughter. She had served in the Abbey for ten...

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