The Golden Song
The handkerchief was already red before Elias opened his eyes. He did not look at it. He held it against his mouth, tasting copper and cold iron, and listened to the hum. It was a low frequency, felt in the teeth more than heard in the ears, vibrating through the floorboards of the attic room in Harrowgate. Outside, the rain drummed a erratic rhythm against the single, grime-streaked window....
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