The Golden Circuit
The blade of the lancet pressed into Elias’s thumb, and the drop of blood swelled, red and trembling, before falling into the glass vial. It did not mix. It sank, then rose, glowing a faint, sickly amber against the clear tincture. Thomas watched the light bloom, his own breath held tight in his chest, while the mill wheel outside groaned against the winter ice. He needed this. He needed it to...
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