The Golden Suspect
The feast of the Harvest Moon had turned the great hall of Ashworth Manor into a cauldron of noise, sweat, and the heavy, cloying scent of roasted boar and spilled wine, and you stood at the edge of the dancing crowd, watching the golden light catch the dust motes that swirled in the air like trapped souls. Your name is Thomas, though you have forgotten how to feel it as yours, and you are only...
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