The Golden Ritual
The name "Vane" had a way of sticking in the throat, like a fishbone lodged deep in the soft tissue of the larynx, and when the Chancellor’s secretary called it out from the shadow of the antechamber, it did not so much summon me as it pinned me to the spot, a specimen under glass, waiting to be dissected for its utility. I stood before the great stained-glass window of the newly industrialized...
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