The Golden Oath
I woke with the taste of iron on my tongue. It was a thick, metallic sludge that coated the roof of my mouth, heavy and cold. I spat into the tin basin by the bed. The red liquid pooled there, swirling in the grey morning light. I looked at my hand. It was trembling. The fingers were curled, stiff as dead twigs. I tried to straighten them. They resisted. The pain was a dull, throbbing ache that...
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