The Golden Myth
The rain had been falling for three days, a relentless, grey curtain that turned the world outside our cottage into a smear of mud and decay, so that when I finally stood up from the table where I had been hunched over my notes for what felt like an eternity, my knees cracked with a sound like dry twigs snapping in a winter forest, a sharp, visceral reminder of the fragility of the flesh that...
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