The Golden Song
The medal hangs on the wall above the fireplace. It is a disk of brass, tarnished by the years and the damp that seeps through the brick of the house. You do not look at it directly. You look at the shadow it casts, the long, thin sliver of darkness that stretches across the mantel like a scar. It is the only thing in the room that feels heavy. The house is light. The house is empty. You are...
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