The Golden Farce
The first symptom was not pain, but a sound. It was a low, resonant hum, like a cello string plucked in an empty hall, vibrating in the marrow of your teeth and the hollows of your chest. You had been walking along the paved path that wound through the old oak grove of Ashworth, a town that had not seen a true change in forty years, when the noise began. You stopped, standing still among the...
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