The Golden Circuit
You are the ink. Not the paper, not the pen, but the ink itself, pooled in the glass vial that sits on the mahogany desk of Mr. Arthur Pendelton, the town’s most respected notary and keeper of secrets. You have been here for three days, a black, viscous cloud of silence, waiting for the moment when the cap is lifted and you are permitted to flow. The air in the office is thick with the scent of...
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