The Golden Myth
The dream was a continuous, suffocating inhalation, a single breath held for years in the lungs of a city that did not know how to exhale, where the air itself had curdled into a thick, golden syrup that coated the tongue and the conscience alike, and in this viscous twilight, Elias Thorne tasted the copper tang of his own impending end, a flavor so distinct and metallic that it tasted less of...
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