The Golden Myth
The cough starts in the throat, a dry, rasping tickle that settles deep into the lungs like a stone in water. You feel it there, a constant, dull weight, a reminder that the air you breathe is not entirely yours. You are in the white room, the sterile box at the edge of the city where the rain falls in sheets against the single, barred window. The walls are painted a shade of beige that seems...
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