The Golden Ritual
The light in the basement was the color of old blood, a thick, amber sludge that seemed to cling to the glass vials on the shelves. Elias Thorne wiped a smear of condensation from the neck of a flask, his hands trembling not from the cold, but from the rattle in his chest that had become his constant companion. He looked up at Mr. Vane, the senior chemist, who stood by the distillation engine,...
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