The Golden Circuit
The iron bit of the sword was not a weapon. It was a key. Seraphina held the blade aloft, the steel trembling against the air that tasted of ozone and old blood. The Great Hall of the Ashworth estate did not echo. It swallowed sound, a vast, vaulted maw of stone and shadow where the chandeliers hung like frozen stars, unlit and cold. She stood at the center of the floor, her breathing a ragged...
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