The Golden Circuit
The letter arrived on a Tuesday, smelling faintly of damp wool and the metallic tang of old blood, a scent that seemed to cling to the parchment even after you had sealed it away in the cedar box. You remember the dream that preceded its arrival, a feverish swirl of gold leaf peeling away from the high vaulted ceilings of the chapel, the light filtering through stained glass not as color but as...
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