The Golden Maze
The dream was always the same. Arthur woke with the taste of copper in his mouth and his left hand burning. He sat up in the dark, the sheets tangled around his knees, and looked at his palm. It was not skin. It was gold. A intricate, shifting labyrinth of metallic walls coiled from his wrist to his fingertips, the corridors narrowing as they approached the nail beds. He flexed his fingers. The...
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