The Golden Scar
The dream was always the same, a recurring fever-dream of gold thread unraveling from the hem of a coat that had once been pristine. It was not a nightmare, precisely, but a haunting, a persistent low hum of loss that sat in the marrow of Silas Thorne’s bones as he stood before the high, narrow windows of the Magistrate’s office. The light in the room was the color of old parchment, dust motes...
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