The Golden Myth
The frost had settled into the deep crevices of my uniform tunic, a fine, white powder that felt less like cold and more like a slow, granular erosion of my skin, as if the winter itself were trying to sand me down to nothing, to strip away the layers of wool and cotton until only the raw, trembling muscle remained beneath, exposed to the biting wind that screamed through the desolate, treeless...
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