The Golden Ritual
The parchment lay on the desk, yellowed and brittle as a dried leaf. I read the order. My hand trembled, not from fear, but from the cold that seeped through the floorboards. Lord Vane’s seal was pressed into the wax, a red circle that looked like a wound. It said I was to transcribe the Golden Ritual by hand. No press. No shortcuts. Only ink and blood. I signed the bottom of the page. The ink...
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