The Golden Ritual
The pen tip scrapes against the heavy cotton paper, a sound like a fingernail dragging across a chalkboard, and you are halfway through the seventh line of the cipher when the ink begins to bleed upward, defying gravity to form loops that do not belong to your hand. You pull back, your wrist stiff from the hours spent hunched over the desk, and look at the scrawl; it is not the angular, precise...
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