The Golden Song
The bell tolled. It hung in the throat of the old textile mill, a brass lung of industry. I stood in the courtyard. The air was thick with coal smoke and rain. It tasted of iron. I was looking for the source. The vibration had started at dawn. A low hum. It shook the teeth in my skull. I am an investigator of anomalies. This is my trade. I seek the unnatural in the natural. I have always...
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