The Golden Song
The dream began, as it always did, with the taste of copper and stale bread, a metallic tang that coated the tongue and lingered in the back of the throat long after the eyes opened to the gray, slanting light of the kitchen. I stood at the counter, my hand wrapped around the handle of my service revolver, the weight of it a familiar, cold anchor against my palm, while my daughter, Elara, sat...
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