The Golden Ritual
The quill scratched against the vellum with a sound like a bone snapping under pressure, a wet, fibrous tear that Elias Thorne felt in his own knuckles as he held the ledger open on the desk. He was not writing; he was correcting, smoothing the ink that had bled into the grain of the page where Clara’s name was inscribed in gold leaf, a name that must not appear, a name that must remain...
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