The Golden Echoes
The dream began with the sound of grinding, a low, metallic groan that vibrated through the floorboards of the cell and into the marrow of Elias Thorne’s bones, a sound that was not quite noise but a physical pressure, a crushing weight that seemed to compress the air in his lungs until he felt the very structure of his chest becoming brittle, like the porcelain dolls his mother had once kept...
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