The Golden Master
The dream was always the same, a blinding arch of gold that burned itself into the back of Elias Thorne’s eyelids until the pain was the only thing that felt real, a searing line that separated the dark from the light and the self from the void. He woke with the taste of copper in his mouth and the smell of stale coffee clinging to the linoleum of the breakroom, his body heavy with the specific...
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