The Golden Ritual
The great hall of the Abbey of St. Jude’s, a fortress of stone perched above the mist-choked valleys of the northern highlands, was not merely a place of worship but a machine for the production of penance. On this particular morning, the air was thick with the scent of beeswax and the damp, earthy smell of wet wool, a combination that had long since become the olfactory signature of Margaret...
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