The Faded Road
The room was gold. It was a heavy, cloying gold, the kind that smells of old varnish and expensive rot. It clung to the walls. It dripped from the chandelier. It sat on the table like a layer of grease. Margaret sat at the head of the table. She was small. She was pale. She looked like a bird that had been picked over by hawks. Her fingers trembled. They were thin. They were white. She gripped...
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