The Golden Crossing
You hold the spoon. It is cold. It is heavy. It is the only thing that is real. The room is white. Not white. It is the color of bone. It is the color of snow before it melts. You are in the Ward. The Ward is not a place. It is a state of being. It is a mistake. The men in grey coats stand at the door. They do not blink. Their eyes are flat. They are the Authority. You are the Error. "You have...
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