The Golden Ritual
Act I Gold is heavy. That is what the ledger said, in the red ink of the county auditor, right before the office closed. I sat in the ferry crossing, watching the tin boats bob in the algae-thick water, my hands wrapped around a cup of tea that had gone cold an hour ago. The heat was a physical thing, a wall of steam that made noon impossible to see. I am Dorothy Hutchins, and I am three years...
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