The Golden Myth
The rain had not stopped for three days, and the grey water had risen until it lapped at the threshold of the manor house, turning the ancient stone steps into a slick and treacherous ramp of mud. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of damp wool, stale candles, and the metallic tang of fear that had settled into the floorboards of the Whitmore estate. Thomas stood in the center of the...
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