The Golden Ritual
The gold was already under my nails when I saw the flake, a tiny chip of bright, dead metal lifting from the pad of my left index finger. It fell onto the rejection slip for the hydroponics quota, a speck of sunlight in the gray light of the Ministry of Eternal Order, and I watched it settle with a kind of sick fascination that I could not explain to anyone, least of all to myself. I am Gladys...
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