The Golden Song
The cup broke. It shattered on the stone floor. White shards. Red liquid. Blood. My blood. I sat in the mud. The cold bit my skin. The train was gone. Smoke rose. Grey. Thick. I held the pieces. My hands shook. The cup was mine. It had been given to me. By him. The warden. Mr. Silas. He was kind. Or so I thought. I was a prisoner. A young man. Twenty years old. My name was Arthur. I had stolen...
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