The Golden Circuit
The letter sits before me, the parchment yellowed and brittle as the skin of an old apple, the ink faded to the color of dried blood, and I find myself holding it not with the reverence of a scholar but with the trembling, aching grip of a man who has just been told that the ground beneath his feet is not earth but a grave. It is written in the hand of Master Aldous, the Guildmaster, a man...
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