The Golden Maze
The first child to die was not a stranger to me, but the son of the baker, and he lay in the street with his skin turning the color of wet ash before the ambulance even screeched to a halt. It was the autumn of 1912, and the air in Oakhaven hung thick with the sulfurous smell of the textile mills, a scent that had settled into our clothes and our hair until we could no longer smell it, only...
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