The Golden Master
You think you are a monster. That is the first lie you tell yourself, and the one that feels the most like truth. The air in the vault is thick, not with dust, but with the weight of silence. It is a silence that has teeth. You sit on the cold stone floor, your knees drawn up to your chest, your hands wrapped around your head. The iron bars of the cell door reflect the single, guttering candle...
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