The Golden Song
The lock did not click. It ground, a wet, metallic sound in the silence of the cell, like a bone snapping under pressure. I held my breath, my fingers curled around the hem of the white shift, the fabric rough against my skin. It was the only thing I had. The rest of me—the name, the history, the face I had worn for thirty years in the town of Oakhaven—had been stripped away by the magistrate’s...
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