The Golden Quest
You wake with the taste of iron and old dust in your mouth, the heavy, suffocating weight of the cellar air clinging to your skin like a wet shroud, and you realize that you are no longer the man who built this house, but merely the mechanism that keeps it standing, a craftsman bound by the rigid, unyielding laws of a contract he can no longer read. The dream is not a vision of gold or glory,...
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