The Golden Circuit
The ink is wet. My hand shakes. It is a small tremor, but it is the whole world shaking. I am writing this by the light of a candle that has burned down to a stub. The wax pools on the table like congealed blood. Outside, the wind howls against the stone walls of this tower. It is a sound like a beast that has been caged too long. I am Dr. Elias Thorne. I was a scholar of antiquity. I knew the...
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