The Golden Ritual
The body of Arthur Pym was brought to the Royal Mint in a zinc coffin, the smell of decay fighting a losing battle against the antiseptic fog of the mortuary room, and you stood by the open casket, your fingers trembling not from grief but from the cold certainty that the object in his pocket was the source of the rot that had eaten his face. You are Elias, thirty-four years old, an archivist...
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