The Golden Suspect
Act I "You cannot touch the neck," Aram said, her voice thin as the frost on the windowpane, "if you want the child to live." Ivana Minasyan stood in the doorway of the stone house, the wind off the mountain biting through her wool coat, and watched her niece’s hands tremble. The Golden Fever had taken hold of Khor Virap three days prior, a superstition so old it predated the current flag...
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