The Golden Scar
The scar was gold. It ran from her left temple to her jaw, a thin, bright line that caught the light in the stone halls of the High Court. It did not hurt. It hummed. A low, constant vibration, like a plucked string in an empty room. Eleanor Ashworth touched it. Her fingers were cold. The air in the chamber was thick with the smell of old wax and ozone. She stood before the High Arbiter. He sat...
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