The Golden Scar
You stand in the center of the great hall. The air is thick. It tastes of wax and old blood. Candles flicker. They dance on the high walls. Shadows stretch. They reach for you. You are the Guard. You are the Seal. The parchment is in your hand. It is warm. It is wet. It is alive. Look at the ink. It shines. It is not black. It is gold. It moves. It crawls. It breathes. The words are not...
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