The Golden Ritual
Act I “You are late, and the ink is drying, Greta.” The clerk’s voice was dry as the linoleum under my feet, a sound that scraped against the walls of the Ministry of Eternal Order, a building that smelled of dust and old paper. I adjusted the strap of my bag, feeling the weight of the folder against my hip, a folder that contained the only thing I had left to file. “The silence protocol was...
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