The Golden Circuit
14th March, 1892. London. The ink is barely dry on the letter I sent to you, yet the silence from Ashworth Hall feels heavier than the fog rolling off the Thames. I have waited three days for a reply, and in that time, I have watched the gold brooch in my mind grow larger, until it consumed the room, the street, and the city itself. You have kept it for twenty years. Twenty years since Mother...
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