The Golden Visit
The nib of your quill scratches against the vellum, a sound like a dry leaf crumbling under a boot, and you do not look up from the page of the Golden Codex. The candle flame, trapped in a glass holder that smells of rendered tallow and old dust, throws a long, wavering shadow across the table, stretching it until it looks like a limb reaching for something it cannot quite grasp. You are Elias...
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