The Golden Scar
The needle pierces the skin. You feel the cold steel before you see it. The vibration of the loom is a constant hum, a low-frequency thrum that lives in your teeth. It is the sound of the city breathing. It is the sound of the machine eating time. You are Margaret. You are in the room. The room is white. The room is small. The room is all you have. The mark is already there. It sits on your...
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