The Golden Ritual
The coffee in the mug is cold. You know it is cold because the surface has formed a skin, a thin, grey film that looks like dried mud. You are sitting in your office at the Department of Anomalous Conduct, a room that smells of ozone and old carpet. It is a Tuesday. It is always a Tuesday here, or at least it feels like one. The light from the window is flat, white, and unblinking. You are a...
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