The Golden Ritual
You wake in the middle of the night with the taste of copper and old dust on your tongue, the taste of a truth that has been swallowed but not digested. The room is dark, save for the sliver of moonlight that cuts across the floorboards like a cold, silver knife, illuminating the dust motes that dance in the still air. You are in a house you do not recognize, a Victorian relic perched on the...
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