The Golden Song
The dream was always the same, a long ribbon of beaten gold stretching into a horizon that did not exist, and Elias Thorne would run toward it with the desperate, gasping lungs of a man trying to catch a falling star, only to wake in the dark of his workshop with the taste of copper in his mouth and his hands trembling so violently he could not hold a screwdriver. He was forty years old, a...
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