The Golden Circuit
Thorne. You’re late again, and the ink is drying on the blotter before you’ve even dipped the pen. October 14, 1892. The dream came back to me this morning, not as a vision of light but as a weight in the chest, a golden circuit binding my ribs to the bedframe, a rigid loop that would not let me exhale. I woke with the taste of copper in my mouth and the sensation that my skin had been sanded...
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