The Golden Song
It is the third day we have been sealed within the tower, and the silence is so thick it has begun to taste of copper and old dust. You are holding the song again, I can see the way your fingers curl around the parchment, white-knuckled and trembling, as if the paper itself were a living thing trying to slip from your grasp. Do not look at me with that pitying, wounded expression, my love, for...
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