The Golden Scar
The glass did not break. It shattered. Mara stood before the mirror. The glass was a pane of clear, cold truth. It hung on the wall of the office. A small, sterile room in the Ministry. The light was white. It hummed. A low, electric thrum. It vibrated in her teeth. She looked at herself. The face was pale. The eyes were wide. The skin was tight. It looked like paper. Like thin, damp paper. The...
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