The Golden Scar

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2026-08-19 12:58:35 -

The Golden Scar

The great hall of the Ashworth estate did not smell of wine, as it had in the days before the fever took hold of the valley. It smelled of damp wool, old stone, and the faint, metallic tang of fear. Thomas Bradshaw stood at the edge of the long table, his hands clasped before him, watching the candlelight flicker against the high, vaulted ceiling. The air was thick with the murmuring of the...

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