The Golden Ritual
The air in the basement smelled of wet earth and ozone. It was a sharp, metallic scent that coated the back of the tongue. Margaret stood before the large, reinforced steel door. Her hands were steady. They had to be steady. She adjusted her glasses. The lenses were clean. The light was dim. It flickered. The door was locked. It had been locked for ten years. Ten years of silence. Ten years of...
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