The Golden Ritual
You are wearing the shawl again. You know this because the air in the room tastes of lavender and old dust, and the weight on your shoulders feels like a second skin that has grown into you, fused to your collarbones until you can no longer tell where your flesh ends and the wool begins. It is a heavy thing, that shawl, woven from threads so fine they seem to catch the light and hold it there,...
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