The Golden Myth
I woke with the taste of iron and old dust in my mouth, the dream of the house still clinging to me like a wet shroud. In the dream, the great oak paneling of the parlor had split down the center, revealing not the lath and plaster behind, but a dark, hollow void where the heart of the room used to be. I sat up, the sheets tangling around my legs, and looked out the window at the gray,...
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