The Golden Song
The dream was not of light, but of weight. It was a heaviness that settled in the marrow of Dr. Arthur Penhaligon’s bones, a density that defied the physics of sleep. He lay in the narrow, iron-framed bed of his study, the air thick with the scent of decaying paper and the metallic tang of old blood. Outside, the London fog pressed against the windowpane like a living thing, erasing the...
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