The Golden Maze
The damp of the cellar in Thorne Manor was not merely a condition of the air but a physical weight, a heavy, wet blanket that pressed against Sir Elias Thorne’s chest as he knelt on the flagstones, the rusted iron key trembling in his hand. It was the year of our Lord 1348, and the plague was gnawing at the edges of the kingdom, but the sickness in this house was older, deeper, and far more...
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