The Golden Oath
The ink was already drying on the parchment before I had finished the word *year*, a dark, spreading stain that looked less like a mistake and more like a bruise. My hand, the left one, had begun to shake three winters ago, a fine, persistent vibration that made the nib jump like a pinball on a steel table. I watched the bleed, my breath held tight in my chest, while the Master’s gaze swept...
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