The Golden Circuit
You are writing the final entry in the ledger before the fire takes the rest, and the ink is wet, glistening like a fresh wound on the heavy, cream-colored paper of the parchment you have kept for thirty years, a document that smells of stale tallow and the metallic tang of old blood, and you sit in the corner of the abandoned chapel where the stone floor is cracked and cold against your knees,...
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