The Golden Compass
The decree arrived in the grey morning light of October, sealed with the town’s black wax, but your hands were too busy to break it open immediately. You were forty years old, an apothecary in Oakhaven, and in your palm you held a small glass vial filled with a liquid that glowed like captured sunlight. It was the last of the Golden Tincture, distilled from the blood of a saint’s relic, and it...
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