The Golden Ritual
I woke from a dream in which the air was thick with the scent of ozone and crushed lilies, a scent that persisted long after the gray light of dawn began to bleed through the narrow, arched windows of the scriptorium. It was a sensation of profound, metallic cleanliness, the kind one might associate with the sterilized air of a modern operating theater, yet here, within the stone walls of the...
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