The Golden Song
The air in the chamber was stale. It tasted of rust and old paper. I sat on the metal stool, my legs trembling. The table in front of me was cold. I ran my hand over the surface. It was smooth. I looked up. Dr. Aris stood by the door. He wore a white coat. It was too bright in the dim room. He held a tablet. He did not smile. "You are late," he said. My voice was a rasp. "The elevator was...
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