The Golden Ritual
The chalice is not gold, you know this with a certainty that predates memory, a truth etched into the marrow of your bones as much as the lines on your palm, and yet the world insists, with the stubborn, deafening persistence of a tide that refuses to recede, that it is made of the purest, most unyielding metal known to man, and you have spent the last forty years of your life in this dim,...
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