The Golden Oath
The lamp on your desk flickers, casting a long, trembling shadow against the plaster wall of the library. It is 1923. The air smells of dust, old paper, and the faint, metallic tang of the radiator that has been leaking rust for weeks. You are alone, or so you think. The heavy oak door is locked from the inside. The windows are sealed shut against the London fog, a thick, grey wool that...
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