The Golden Ritual
The banquet hall smelled of roasted lamb and stale ambition, a cloying perfume that clung to the velvet drapes and the polished mahogany tables where the Elders of the Sanitarium sat in rows of stern, silver-haired silence. I stood at the periphery, my hands clasped tightly behind my back, watching the light of a thousand candles dance across the faces of men who believed they had the power to...
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