The Golden Song
The air in the workshop was thick with the scent of linseed oil and old varnish, a heavy, sweet perfume that clung to the back of your throat. You sat at the center of the room, the only light source a single bare bulb hanging from a wire that swayed gently, casting long, trembling shadows against the peeling wallpaper. Your hands were stained dark to the wrists, the skin cracked and dry,...
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