The Golden Visit
The dream began with the smell of ozone and old iron, a scent that had long since faded from the waking world but clung to the memory of the mill like a stain on linen. You were standing in the center of the vast, high-ceilinged floor of the Ashworth Textile Company, the air thick with the dust of a century. It was not a dream of light, but of a profound, suffocating darkness, broken only by...
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