The Golden Ritual
You wake in a dream of gold. It is not the warm gold of late afternoon sun, nor the brittle gold of autumn leaves. It is a liquid, molten, viscous substance that coats your skin. You are standing in a hall of mirrors, infinite and reflecting, and in every reflection, you are naked. Your body is not yours. It is a map of red lines and blue veins, a diagram of frailty. You try to move, but the...
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