The Golden Myth
You dream of gold, but it is not the yellow metal you know. It is a fluid, viscous substance that oozes from the cracks in the floorboards of your workshop, smelling of ozone and old blood. You wake with your hands stained, the sheets tangled around your legs like the roots of a drowned tree. The light in the room is gray and thin, filtering through the high windows of the manor. You are not a...
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