The Golden Quest
The dream was a corridor of light. Not sunlight. Not the harsh, white glare of the clinic lamps that had burned her eyes for thirty years. It was a gold. A thick, liquid gold that pooled in the corners of the ceiling and dripped slowly onto the floor. Margaret stood in it. She was young. Her hair was not the brittle straw of her seventy years, but a dark, heavy curtain that smelled of rain and...
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