The Golden Farce
The dream was of a bell. It hung in a void. It was brass. It was warm. Miles awoke with the sound still ringing in his ears. It was a sharp, metallic cry. It cut the silence of the office. The room was gray. The light was flat. Miles sat at his desk. He stared at the screen. The cursor blinked. It blinked like a heartbeat. It was steady. It was cold. He reached for his mug. The coffee was...
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