The Golden Suspect
The ink in my quill has dried, yet the weight of the vial in my hand feels heavier than the stone slab that covered Elara’s grave three days ago. I am Elias, apothecary of the city of Oakhaven, and this ledger is no longer a record of trade, but a confession written in the language of survival. The plague does not respect guild laws, nor does it care for the orthodoxy of the Guild Master, but I...
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