The Golden Master
The seal is warm. It is your breath. It is your skin. You are the crier. You are the keeper. The room is small. The air is thick. It smells of wax. It smells of old blood. You are in a dream. You know it is a dream. The light is wrong. It is too still. It does not move. It does not blink. You hold the signet. It is gold. It is heavy. It bites into your palm. You have held it for a hundred...
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