The Golden Song
I dreamt of the coat. It hung on the hook by the door, but the hook was made of bone. The fabric was black silk, heavy as wet earth. It did not hang still. It breathed. I woke in the dark. The house was silent. Too silent. My brother, Thomas, slept in the next room. He was sick. The fever had burned through him for three days. I lay still, listening to his breathing. It was a wet, ragged sound....
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