The Golden Ritual
The fluorescent lights hummed at a frequency that made my teeth ache. It was a low, droning sound, the kind that settled in the marrow and refused to leave. I sat in the gray plastic chair, my hands folded in my lap, watching the dust motes dance in the beam of a single, harsh light. The room was sterile. White walls. White floor. White ceiling. There was no window. There was no door that I...
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