The Golden Oath
The ink is wet, black and slick as oil, and it is seeping into the grain of the parchment with a hunger that feels personal. You are twelve years old, Elias, and your fingers are stained up to the second knuckle, the pigment working its way beneath the skin like a bruise that will not fade. You want the Golden Seal. You want it with a desperation that tastes like copper in the back of your...
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