The Golden Ritual
The bell tolled. It was a low, mournful sound that seemed to vibrate in the marrow of the bones. Brother Elias stood at the window. The stone was cold. The glass was thick. Outside, the mist clung to the roots of the old oaks. They were black. They were silent. He turned. The room was dim. The candles flickered. A single drop of wax fell. It hit the table. It made a small, dark star. He held...
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