The Golden Harbor
The knife bit deep. Mara felt the heat before the pain. It was a warm, wet thing. A river of red. It ran down her wrist. It dripped onto the floorboards. The floorboards were old. They were dark. They were slick. She did not scream. She did not cry. She held the spoon. The spoon was silver. It was tarnished. It was heavy. It sat in her palm. It was the only thing that felt real. The only thing...
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