The Golden Farce

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2026-08-20 07:23:04 -

The Golden Farce

The air tasted of iron. It clung to the back of my throat. Cold. Sharp. I stood in the kitchen. The table was bare. We had eaten hours ago. Or perhaps days. Time had lost its shape. It pooled in the corners. Like dirty water. My hands were trembling. I pressed them against the oak surface. The wood was cold. It did not care. I looked at the mirror above the sink. My face was pale. Thin. The...

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