The Golden Scar

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2026-08-20 07:04:33 -

The Golden Scar

The iron bit was cold against my tongue. I did not fight. To fight was to admit the beast was real. I had spent twenty years in the Hall of Whispers, learning that the beast was only a reflection of my own hollow chest. My name was Edward Ashworth, though here I was merely Number Four. The walls were made of black slate, polished until they shone like wet obsidian. They reflected our faces back...

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