The Golden Visit
The clasp was worth more than my yearly wage, and I had not touched it in three days. "You’re hoarding the luck, Elias. You’re keeping the harvest sick." Silas Vane’s voice carried across the communal hall, sharp and dry as the threshed wheat piled in the corner. I stood by the loom, my hands still on the warp threads, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. The golden clasp on...
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