The Golden Scar
You are the Keeper of the Glass Bell. It hangs from a chain of cold iron in the center of the Hall of Mirrors, a sphere of crystal so clear it seems to be made of solidified air. You have tended it for forty years, polishing its surface until your knuckles bled, ensuring that no speck of dust, no breath of fog, could ever cloud its transparency. The Bell is your soul, and your soul is the Bell....
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