The Golden Quest
Elara. The name was not called in anger, but in the flat, declarative tone of a merchant confirming a ledger balance, spoken by the midwife as she held my son’s limp body against the soot-stained wall of our cottage. It was the autumn of 1342, and the air in the room smelled of wet wool and iron. Thomas had died screaming, a sound that seemed to crack the very stones of the hearth, and as his...
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