The Golden Suspect
The sky tore open with a sound like tearing silk, and the light that poured through was not sunlight. It was a heavy, golden viscous fluid that fell in sheets, coating the cobblestones of the village square in a shimmering, metallic glaze. Margaret stood in the center of the deluge, her hands raised to her face, not to shield her eyes, but to feel the warmth of it against her palms. It was...
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