The Golden Scar
"The sap is thick today," Elias said, his voice a dry rasp that seemed to scrape against the humid air. He did not look up from the specimen under the glass. His fingers, stained yellow to the knuckles, turned the lens with the precision of a surgeon. "It smells of rot and copper. Do you hear it? The forest is bleeding." Elara stood by the window, watching the fog swallow the pines. She was his...
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