The Golden Song
I woke with the taste of iron in my mouth. The cellar smelled of wet stone and rust. I was not in my bed. I was not in my uniform. I held a coin in my hand. It was gold. It was heavy. It was warm. I knew it by touch. I knew it before I opened my eyes. I opened them. The ceiling was low. Beams of dark oak. A single candle burned in a clay dish. The flame did not flicker. It stood still. Like a...
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