The Golden Ritual
The oak tree stood in the center of the plaza, its roots drinking from the rain that never seemed to stop in this city. Dr. Arthur Penhaligon adjusted his spectacles, the brass frames catching the gray light. He had come for the data. That was all. He was a man of taxonomy, of Latin binomials, of measured variables. He did not believe in ghosts, or curses, or the whispering of bark. He believed...
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