The Golden Quest
You didn’t eat it, did you, Thomas? My brother’s voice wasn’t loud. It was the kind of quiet that fills a room like water filling a bottle, pressurized and cold, rising up until it cracks the glass of your composure. I stood by the kitchen island, the ceramic plate trembling in my hands, the smell of burnt sugar and scorched butter hanging heavy in the air. It was the morning of my twelfth...
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