The Golden Ritual
The first drop of glue hit the white linen tablecloth at precisely 9:04 AM, a dark, viscous smear that looked less like an accident and more like a bruise spreading under the skin of the fabric. Mabel Underhill, fifty-two, Chief Curator Emeritus of Oakhaven’s modest historical society, stared at the stain, her hand suspended in the air, trembling with a rhythm that had no business belonging to...
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