The Golden Visit
The frost on the windowpanes was thick enough to write on, and I was writing my resignation, or rather, my confession, when the knock came. It was a sharp, rhythmic sound, three distinct raps that cut through the hum of the radiator. I didn’t move. I kept my pen hovering over the paper, the ink blotting a small, dark circle in the center of the page like a pupil dilating in the dark. "It's...
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