The Golden Quest
You dream of the seal. It is a heavy thing, a circle of wax pressed into the soft earth of a grave that does not exist yet. The wax is the color of old blood, of dried roses, of the rust that eats the iron gates of the prison where you keep your silence. In the dream, you hold it in your hands. It is warm. It hums against your palm like a living heart. You know what it means. You have always...
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