The Golden Oath
I woke with gold in my mouth. It was not a coin. It was a word. A single, heavy syllable that sat on my tongue like a stone I had swallowed years ago. It tasted of copper and old blood. I spat it onto the floor. It did not break. It rolled. It caught the light of the morning sun that sliced through the blinds. It stayed there. A small, perfect circle of yellow. I am a printer. I make marks on...
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