The Golden Ritual
The rain does not fall so much as it is imposed upon the earth, a heavy, grey curtain of industrial soot and water that blurs the horizon of the moor into a singular, suffocating expanse of wetness, and you stand in the center of this deluge, your uniform soaked through to the skin, the brass buttons of your tunic cold against your chest like the eyes of dead gods, while the man who was once...
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