The Golden Downtown
Mara dreamed of a dress made of spun gold, tight and blinding, stitched into the skin of her back. In the dream, she wore it to a feast in a hall that stretched into an infinite dark, the floorboards creaking under the weight of silent, judgmental ghosts. She reached for a goblet, but her fingers were long, skeletal, and cold. When she woke, the first pale light of the autumn dawn was filtering...
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