The Golden Suspect
You leave the valley of the living with a cough in your throat that tastes of iron and old dust. The air here is thick, not with smoke, but with the weight of things that have been forgotten. You are not entirely sure you are a man anymore, or a memory of one. Your body is a map of scars, but the one that aches the most is not on your skin. It is deep inside your chest, where your heart used to...
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