The Golden Ritual
The dream had always tasted of copper and wet wool, a thick, metallic tang that coated the back of Elias Thorne’s throat before he even opened his eyes, a persistent ghost of a sensation that clung to his consciousness like the damp moss on the stone walls of the cellar where he had spent the better part of his youth trying to scrub away the stain of a sin he could no longer clearly remember, a...
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