The Golden Song

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2026-08-22 19:58:29 -

The Golden Song

The parchment lay on the oak table, yellowed and brittle at the edges, the ink faded to a faint, rusty brown. It was the deed to the Ashworth farm, signed by my father three years before the fever took him. I held it out to Lord Vane, the Duke’s steward, my hands trembling slightly in the cold draft that swept through the high windows of the scriptorium. The room smelled of lamp oil, dried...

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