The Golden Song
The dream was always the same: a road of beaten gold stretching into the fog, but with every step Arthur Vane took, the metal crumbled into gray dust beneath his boots. He woke in his narrow room above the boarding house, the air thick with the smell of coal smoke and damp wool, the year 1912 pressing in on the windows. He was thirty years old, a junior clerk at the Blackwood Ironworks, and he...
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