The Golden Master
The road to the Abbey of St. Jude was long and white. It was a road of chalk and dust, cut through the heather moors of the highlands. I walked it alone. My name is Elara. I am a woman of the old blood, though the world has forgotten what that means. I carried a cloak of deep crimson. It was woven by my mother. The wool was fine. The dye was deep as a wound. It was my inheritance. It was my...
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