The Golden Myth

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 16:04:14 -

The Golden Myth

The cold bit into my bones. It lived there. It had always lived there. A resident tenant in the marrow. I was a scholar. That is what they called me. A keeper of words. A man who studied the dead. I sat in the chair. The wood was hard. It pressed into my thighs. My son, Arthur, stood by the fire. He was small. Too small. He held a bowl. It was empty. The fire died. The room turned blue....

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