The Golden Myth
You wake in the dark. The air tastes of iron and damp wool. You are not alone, but you are alone. That is the difference. The man in the next cell is snoring. A wet, rattle sound. He has been here longer than you. You can tell by the way he moves. He knows the draft. He knows where the cold comes in. You are new here. You are cold. Your hands are bound. Not with rope. With chains. Short links....
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