The Golden Song

added blog Literature

2026-08-17 18:26:40 -

The Golden Song

The dream had the texture of wet wool. I stood in a corridor of black stone, the air thick with the smell of damp earth and old parchment. At the end of the hall, a figure sat upon a throne of bone. It was not a king. It was a mirror. In the glass, I saw my own face, but the mouth was sewn shut with gold thread. I tried to speak. No sound came. Only a hum, low and vibrating, like a plucked...

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