The Golden Visit
The feast was loud, a roaring fire of wine and roasted meat that swallowed the quiet corners of the hall, and you sat in the center of it, feeling the weight of the gold chain around your neck like a noose made of light. It was your wife’s doing. Margaret had woven it from threads of spun starlight and old promises, a piece of jewelry so radiant it seemed to hum with a life of its own. She had...
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