The Golden Visit
The seal was a small, waxed thing, the color of dried blood, pressed into the corner of a letter that had no return address. It bore the impression of a key, not a door, but a mechanism, a lock that opened inward. I held it between my thumb and forefinger, feeling the brittle fragility of the substance, the way it flaked under the slightest pressure, shedding tiny red flakes that looked like...
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