The Golden Echoes
The chandelier in the great hall of Blackwood Manor did not sway, yet the light it cast trembled, a golden, viscous liquid that pooled on the marble floor and seemed to breathe in time with Elias Thorne’s own labored pulse. He stood at the center of the banquet, a warden in a uniform that had not been issued in decades, his hands clasped behind his back with a rigidity that betrayed the terror...
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