The Golden Ritual
The ink was spreading again, a bruise of black beneath the gold leaf, and Elias Thorne watched it with the dull, heavy attention of a man who has been waiting for a train that will never come. He held the chalice up to the fluorescent light of the Ministry of Aesthetics, his fingers trembling not from cold, but from the sheer, grinding effort of keeping the vessel steady. The Minister, Lord...
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