The Golden Ritual
My fingers were trembling as I pressed the quill to the vellum, the nib splitting slightly on the first stroke, and the smell of the Ministry of Eternal Records hit me before I even opened my eyes: a thick, cloying scent of old paper, dust, and something sweeter, like rotting fruit left in a closed room. I am Elias Thorne, Senior Archivist, and I am forty-two years old, though the skin on my...
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