The Golden Master
The feast was a river of gold, a liquid sun poured into clay bowls and silver trays, spilling over the edges of the great oak table in a manner that suggested abundance was not merely a state of being but a physical weight, a pressure against the chest, a thing one had to hold in check lest it drown the breath. We sat in the high hall of Ashworth Manor, a house that had stood since the time...
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