The Golden Circuit
The letter was written on parchment that felt like dry skin beneath her fingers, the ink still wet, glistening in the candlelight like a fresh wound. Elara sat at the edge of the bed in the small, stone-walled room above the apothecary, watching the quill tremble in her hand. It was not the cold that made her shiver, though the draft from the window chattered against the glass, nor was it the...
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