The Golden Ritual
You are the only one who remembers the weight of the ink, how it does not dry but remains wet, a perpetual fluidity that seeps into the pores of the parchment and the skin of the hand that holds the quill, and you stand in the center of the Archive of Silences in the town of Oakhaven, a place where the fog does not lift but settles like a damp wool blanket over the cobblestones and the spires,...
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