The Golden Song
You hold the egg. It is warm. It is heavy. The shell is not white. It is gold. It pulses. Like a heart. You are in the garden. The garden is not real. Or maybe it is. I cannot tell. The air tastes of iron. And honey. Thomas stands before you. He is tall. His face is pale. He looks at you. He does not look at the egg. He looks at your hands. His hands are shaking. "Give it to me," he says. His...
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