The Golden Song
The hand was shaking when it reached for the door handle, but the fingers locked around the iron bar with a grip that held. Elias Thorne pulled. The wood groaned, a dry, splintering sound that cut through the damp air of the cellar. He was thirty years old, and his back was a knot of old bruises and new aches. He wanted his name back. He wanted the theft charge dropped. He wanted the council to...
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