The Golden Ritual
The letter lay on the mahogany desk, its wax seal unbroken, the paper thick and cream-colored under the gaslight, and Dr. Elias Thorne held the quill with a hand that had not trembled since the fever took his wife in the winter of 1889, yet the ink bled slightly into the fibers as he signed his name, a small, dark stain that looked less like a signature and more like a wound. He was forty years...
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