The Golden Scar
The train shudders into the station, a long, metallic groan that feels less like a mechanical stop and more like a sigh. You step off onto the gravel platform, your shoes crunching softly against the pebbles, and the air hits you. It is thick, sweet, and heavy with the scent of rotting apples and diesel. This is Oakhaven. It is a place that exists in a blur of seasons, where the leaves never...
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