The Golden Ritual
The hand is a map of your life. You know this. You have known it for forty years. The skin over the knuckles is thickened, calloused from gripping the brass of the podium, from holding the heavy ledgers of the Department of Ethical Governance. The veins beneath the surface are blue ropes, twisted and prominent, a topography of endurance. You look at it now, resting on the cold marble table of...
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