The Golden Ritual
The ledger lay open on the desk, its pages thick with the dust of the archive, and I signed the final entry with a hand that had begun, three days prior, to turn to gold. The ink was black, the paper cream, and the light from the high windows was sharp enough to cut, but my left fingers were stiff, rigid, and utterly devoid of sensation. I had been a scribe for twenty years in the service of...
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