The Golden Oath
You dream of the ring. It is gold. Thin. Cold. It sits on your left hand, but it does not feel like metal. It feels like skin. It feels like a pulse. You are in the attic. The air is still. Dust motes dance in the slant of afternoon light. You look at your hand. You flex the fingers. The ring stays. It does not slide. It does not fall. It is part of you. You wake. The ring is gone. You look at...
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