The Golden Scar

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2026-08-20 10:42:05 -

The Golden Scar

The hall smelled of roasting pork and old stone. We were the bottom of the ladder, but the ladder was golden. I stood by the hearth, my hands black with ash, watching the lords laugh. Their faces were masks of porcelain and meat. I was a prisoner in a palace of bone. The King sat at the head of the table. He did not look at us. He never looked at us. We were the floor. We were the shadow....

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