The Golden Circuit
The hall is bright. Too bright. The chandeliers drip gold light onto the silk. You stand at the edge of the crowd. You watch the hands. They clap. They lift glasses. The air is thick with perfume and old wine. You smell the dust under the floorboards. You remember the cellar. The house is old. It breathes. The walls have cracks. The cracks are maps. You have walked them many times. You are a...
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