The Golden Maze
The air in the Great Hall of the Ashworth Manor did not move; it hung, thick and amber, smelling of dried lavender and the faint, metallic tang of old blood that had seeped into the oak floors over three centuries. Margaret stood before the full-length mirror, her hands trembling slightly as she adjusted the silk sash around her waist. The glass was not merely a reflection but a window, a...
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