The Golden Quest
The ribbon is red. It is tied in a simple knot at the back of your neck, the silk worn thin and soft as skin, holding your dark hair back from a face that you are beginning to forget how to look at. You sit at the kitchen table, the wood scarred by decades of knife marks and spilled tea, and you watch the dust motes dance in the single beam of afternoon light that cuts through the curtain. Your...
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