The Golden Scar

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2026-08-17 17:21:53 -

The Golden Scar

I dreamt of the ink again. It was not black, as it should have been, but a deep, arterial red. It pooled in the crevices of my bones. I woke with my mouth full of copper taste. The room was small. The walls were damp. The air smelled of wet wool and old paper. I was in the holding cell. Or what they called a holding cell. A white room. A soft room. No bars. No keys. Just the hum of the...

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