The Golden Ritual
The smell of burnt sugar was thick in the air, a cloying, sweet poison that hung over the cobblestones of the old quarter like a shroud, and it was this scent, this relentless, sugary insistence, that made the teeth ache in a way that had nothing to do with hunger and everything to do with the particular, grinding exhaustion of being known for what one was not, rather than what one actually...
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