The Golden Scar
The iron door of the Blackwood estate groaned open not with a creak of wood but with a shudder that seemed to travel up through the soles of my boots, a vibration that told me the house itself was holding its breath before the blow, and I stood there in the mud, the rain slicking my hair into dark ropes against my forehead, watching the smoke rise from the eastern wing in a thin, gray plume...
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