The Golden Oath
The brass key in my hand was heavy, cold, and tarnished, a small metal weight that seemed to drain the strength from my wrist as I stood in the center of the Sterling Archive’s grand hall. At forty-two, I felt the full gravity of the room pressing down on me, the air thick with the scent of decaying paper and the low, sibilant whispers of the junior staff who clustered by the shelves, their...
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