The Golden Ritual
You wake to the smell of iron and dust. The air is thick. It tastes of rust. You are in the cellar. The stone walls weep. A single bulb hums. It is weak. It flickers. Your name is Arthur. You work here. You have always worked here. The Mill. It is old. The gears are huge. They grind the grain into flour. They grind the flesh into powder. You do not mind. You are a small man. You are invisible....
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