The Golden Cellar
You wake with the taste of copper on your tongue. It is a thick, metallic tang, the kind that lingers after a long run or a bad fall, but you are lying in a bed of white linens that smell of industrial bleach and something else, something faintly sweet like rotting lilies. The room is sterile. The light is harsh, a fluorescent hum that vibrates in your teeth. You do not know where you are. You...
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