The Golden Ritual
You are the last of the keepers. The house is a monument to your failure. It stands at the edge of the pine forest, a sprawling Victorian ghost in the modern world. The paint peels like dead skin. The windows are cracked. You live here because you promised to. Because you are the elder. Because you know the names of the trees. The wisteria is dying. It wraps around the porch in a tangled,...
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