The Golden Visit
The fever began in the marrow, a slow, golden rot that tasted of burnt sugar and static. Elias Thorne, a boy of twelve who had never known a day without the weight of the invisible pressing against his temples, woke to find his hands trembling. Not with cold, but with a terrible, electric anticipation. He was in the small, white-walled room of the St. Jude’s Community Center, the linoleum floor...
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