The Golden Oath
The fog in Ashworth did not merely obscure the city; it consumed it, a thick, sulfurous blanket that pressed against the windows of the small tenement on Sallow Street, muffling the distant clatter of the trams and the rhythmic, wet coughing that had become the metronome of Elara Vance’s life. It was the winter of 1924, a season that felt less like a time of year and more like a permanent state...
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