The Golden Circuit

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2026-08-18 12:38:01 -

The sugar cube did not dissolve. It sat on the tongue of the dream, hard as a pebble, cold as a river stone in winter. I tried to bite it, but my teeth were made of chalk, crumbling before they could break the surface. This was the night before the crossing. I lay in the narrow bed of my brother’s house in Lyon, the air thick with the scent of damp wool and old tobacco, listening to the rain...

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