The Golden Myth
The dream is not of gold, but of weight. It is the heavy, damp weight of iron shackles that have rusted into the skin, and the sound of a door, thick as a cathedral oak, slamming shut against the world. You are standing in the center of a circular room, the stone floor cold through the soles of your boots. The air is stale, tasting of old paper and unwashed wool, and the only light comes from a...
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