The Golden Myth
The clock on the mantelpiece has stopped at 4:17. You have not wound it in three years, yet it seems to tick in your mind, a relentless, mechanical heartbeat that syncs with the pounding of your own heart. The house is silent, a heavy, suffocating silence that presses against the eardrums like deep water. You are standing in the center of the drawing room, your hands clasped tightly behind your...
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