The Golden Ritual
The notice lay on my desk, the ink still wet, smelling of iron and vinegar. It was a standard form, Form 14-B, regarding the finalization of the Sterling Institute’s archives. My name, Elara Vane, was printed in the upper left corner, a small black box of identity against the cream paper. I signed it. The pen scratched a harsh line through the silence of the room. I am forty years old. I have...
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