The Golden Oath
The toast is for Clara, not for me, so drink up while the light is still hitting the chandelier." Sarah’s voice was a thin slice of butter, smooth over the roughness of the room, and I turned the golden gavel in my hands, the metal warm from the friction of my palms, feeling the weight of it settle into the meat of my grip. It was a piece of solid brass, plated in gold leaf that I had applied...
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