The Golden Song
The fire took the roof first. Then the beams. You watched from the yard, your hands shaking, the cold rain mixing with the heat on your face. The house was dying. Your home. Your father’s legacy. It crumbled into ash and black smoke, a skeleton of charred wood against the gray sky. You did not move. You stood in the mud. The villagers gathered on the road, silent. They watched the fire. They...
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