The Golden Suspect
The dream began with the smell of wet wool and iron. It was a heavy, metallic scent that coated the back of the throat, tasting of old coins and deep, stagnant water. In the dream, the walls of the manor were breathing, expanding and contracting with a slow, rhythmic heave, as if the stone itself were a living lung. The floorboards creaked under the weight of unseen footsteps, a sound like dry...
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