The Pale Meridian
You are in the cellar. The air is thick. It tastes of dust. It tastes of old iron. You are the Inquisitor. You hold the seal. The seal is a ring of silver. It is engraved. The engraving is a key. The key is worn. The metal is smooth. It has lost its teeth. You know this. You have held it for a year. You have rubbed it against your thumb. The skin there is calloused. The ring is cold. It does...
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