The Golden Song
The taste of copper fills your mouth. It is thick. Red. It coats the back of your throat. You wake up gasping. The ceiling is white. Paint peels in long strips. You are in the barracks. The air smells of mildew and old sweat. You are not in the dream. You are here. You check your hands. They are clean. No blood. You stand up. Your legs shake. The floorboards creak. You walk to the mirror. Your...
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