The Golden Maze

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 15:16:16 -

The Golden Maze

The air in the Grand Hall of the Whitmore Estate smelled of roasted pheasant and old money. Margaret stood at the edge of the polished oak floor, her fingers white-knuckled around a crystal flute. She was the shadow to Edward’s light. He was the sun. She was the heat that burned the skin. The guests moved like oil on water, slick and silent. They laughed. The sound was a dull thud in her...

0 Comments 0 Shares 3 Views 0 Reviews