The Golden Ritual
The locket sat on the mahogany table, a small, heavy thing of tarnished gold, and Arthur felt the cold weight of it in his soul before he even touched the metal. He was forty years old, though the hollows under his eyes made him look older, a man eroded by the specific, grinding poverty that comes from caring for a sick child in a house that was slowly falling apart. His son, Thomas, lay in the...
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