The Golden Ritual
The archway was singing, and I was the only one who could hear it. It was a low, resonant thrum that vibrated in the marrow of my bones, a sound that grew sharper and more distinct whenever I felt the weight of a lie pressing against my chest, a sonic barometer of my own deceit that I had never once mentioned to the Diocese or to the Bishop. I stood in the nave of St. Jude’s Chapel, the newly...
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