The Golden Master
The rain fell on the slate roof. It was a cold rain. It smelled of iron and old dust. Marcus sat in the high chair. The wood was polished by time. It was the Chair of the Inquisitor. It was also his father’s chair. He wore the black robes. The fabric was heavy. It dragged on the stone floor. He did not feel the weight. He felt only the cold. The room was silent. The candles flickered. Their...
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