The Golden Myth
The road is wet. You are walking. Your boots are heavy with mud and the weight of miles. You do not know where you are going. You only know that you must move. The air is cold. It bites your face. It bites your hands. You pull your collar up. You look down at your hands. They are bare. They are red. They are shaking. You stop. You look at the tree. There is a coat hanging on the branch. It is...
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