The Golden Scar

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2026-08-20 14:45:17 -

The Golden Scar

Mara walked. The sky was the color of bruised plums. It hung low. It pressed down. She carried a basket. It was wicker. It was warm. Inside sat a loaf of bread. White. Soft. Tearing at the seams. Mara smelled it. Yeast. Sugar. Hope. She walked toward the Glass City. Everyone walked there. The air tasted of copper. It tasted of fear. Mara was a clerk. She counted numbers. She filed papers. She...

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