The Golden Myth
I woke with the taste of iron on my tongue and the weight of the cellar door still pressing against my mind, a physical ache in the base of my skull that had nothing to do with sleep and everything to do with the silence that followed the scream. It was the winter of my fortieth year, a time when the frost did not merely settle on the windowpanes of Blackwood Manor but seemed to creep into the...
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