The Golden Scar
You stand at the center of the table, the crystal trembling in your hand. The room is too bright. The chandelier cuts through the air like a suspended constellation, refracting light onto the faces of the elders. They are smiling. You know the smile. It is the smile of a man who has found a rat in the pantry but has not yet decided whether to call it dinner or disease. You are the Scholar. This...
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