The Golden Ritual

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2026-08-19 22:54:26 -

The Golden Ritual

The coat was not merely a garment; it was a vessel for the hours I had spent dying, stitched together from the lint of my own unraveling. It hung in the hallway of the house on Elm Street, a dark, heavy silhouette against the pale wallpaper, waiting for me to return so it could swallow me whole. I was Gerald Vane, a man who had once believed that time was a river one could paddle across with...

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