The Golden Scar
The factory had been closed for twenty years, but the scar it left on the land was golden. Eleanor Vane stood at the edge of the old industrial site, her fingers tracing the rusted chain-link fence that someone had bothered to maintain. The chain-link was painted a pale, peeling gold—gold that matched the late summer light falling across the field of tall fescue and wild mustard. She had...
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