The Golden Farce
You have always known that the wool sweater burns differently when it is not meant for you. It is a subtle heat, a prickling sensation that begins at the base of the skull and radiates outward, like the first tremor of a winter storm. For years, you have worn this garment, a thick, hand-knit thing of undyed gray wool, heavy as wet stone. It belongs to your brother, Elias, though he has not worn...
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