The Golden Echoes
You dream of the color of rust. It is not the bright, arterial red of fresh blood, but a dull, oxidized brown that speaks of time and neglect. In the dream, you are standing in a field that stretches endlessly in every direction, the grass knee-high and dry, whispering against your trousers. You are holding something in your hands. It is heavy, warm, and alive. You do not look down at it. You...
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