The Golden Oath
The bread on the table is hard as a river stone, and you press your thumb into the crust until it breaks, the crumb dusting your knuckles like gray ash. You are sitting in the center of the laboratory, a room that smells of sulfur, damp wool, and the metallic tang of old blood, and you are trying to remember if you have eaten in the last two days. The clock on the wall ticks with a heavy,...
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