The Golden Ritual
The ink did not dry; it breathed. Brother Thomas sat in the scriptorium, the candlelight trembling against the damp stone walls, and watched the gold leaf on the final page of the *Codex Aureus* shimmer with a life that had no business existing in the dead quiet of the Abbey of St. Jude. He was forty years old, his fingers permanently stained with oak gall and iron, and he wanted only to finish...
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