The Golden Crossing
The axe bites into the wood with a sound like a bone snapping. You swing it again, the iron head heavy in your hands, splitting the pine log into splinters that fly like shrapnel. This is the third winter you have been here, in this house that was not built for you but inherited by blood and mistake. Your brother, Silas, stands in the doorway, watching you. He does not help. He never helps. He...
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