The Golden Oath
The ink was blue. It sat in a glass vial on the windowsill, catching the morning light like a trapped eye. Elara watched it. She had watched it for three days. The liquid did not move. It did not dry. It simply waited. Outside, the castle walls of Aethelgard stood grey and silent against a sky that refused to brighten. The air inside the tower was stale, smelling of old paper and cold stone....
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