The Golden Maze
You return to the house on the hill. The door is unlocked. It was never locked to you. You step inside. The air is still, thick with the scent of old wood and dried lavender. It smells like a secret kept for too long. Margaret is there. She sits in the wingback chair by the window. She does not look up. She is stirring a pot on the stove. The spoon scrapes the ceramic. A rhythmic, hollow sound....
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