The Golden Myth
The letter is dated November 14, 1912, and the ink is smeared in places where my thumb has pressed too hard against the paper, a gesture born of the tremor that now lives in my right hand. Silas, I write to you because I must put these words down before the sulfur gets into my lungs again, that thick, rotten-egg stench that has begun to cling to my skin like a second layer of flesh. I am coming...
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