The Golden Master
"You’re bleeding on the carpet, Arthur. It’s a Persian rug. Do you have any idea what that costs?" The voice belonged to my sister, Elena, but it sounded distant, filtered through a thick layer of static that had been humming in my ears for three weeks. I looked down. My hand was pressed against the side of my head, and yes, the red was there, vivid and shocking against the ivory wool, mixing...
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