The Golden Scar
The hall is bright with the light of a thousand bees. They hum in the rafters, a low, vibrating chord that settles in your teeth. You sit at the long table, your hands folded under the linen cloth. The cloth is white. It is too white. It shines like bone. You are not supposed to be here. You know this. The guards at the door looked at you, but they did not stop you. They nodded. A small, polite...
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