The Golden Oath
Act I The light before a hailstorm is greenish, a physical fact that turns the oak savanna outside the church basement into a bruised, waiting thing. I am Kenji Ogawa. I am twelve years old, and I am standing in the damp dark of the basement, holding a page of paper that smells of iron and old blood. The walls here are shared by two households, the masonry thin enough that if you press your ear...
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