The Golden Ritual
The brass kettle, suspended by a chain of such precarious delicacy that a mere breath from the window could set it swaying like a pendulum in a dead man’s pocket watch, had not been polished in three days, a neglect that reflected not so much a laziness as a profound and structural dissonance within the workshop of Silas Vane, where the air hung thick with the metallic tang of oxidized copper...
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