The Golden Oath
The locket hung from a chain of tarnished silver. It was a heavy thing, cold to the touch, and it rested against the hollow of Thomas’s throat like a second heart. He was twelve years old, small for his age, with hands that shook when he was afraid. He lived in the cellar of the Ashworth house, a place where the air tasted of damp stone and old wood. Above him, the floorboards creaked with the...
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