The Golden Ritual
The argument had been going on for three hours, the air in the kitchen thick with the scent of burnt toast and the metallic tang of Martha’s rage, and Elias sat at the head of the table with his hands folded tightly in his lap, watching the steam rise from a cup of tea he had not touched since noon. Martha stood by the window, her back to him, her silhouette rigid against the gray afternoon...
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