The Golden Visit
The fire did not begin as a spark, but as a roar, a sudden and violent tearing of the fabric of your quiet Tuesday evening that left you standing in the hallway of your family home, clutching a single, heavy garment in your hands, while the smoke curled around your ankles like a black, living cat. You were twenty-six years old, a man who had built a life out of the precise, sterile architecture...
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