The Golden Scar

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2026-08-20 20:55:35 -

The Golden Scar

The banquet hall smelled of burnt sugar and ozone, a cloying sweetness that hung in the stagnant air like a shroud. It was the Annual Calibration Gala, a grotesque display of industrial excess where the architects of the new world toasted their own efficiency. Margaret Holloway sat at the periphery of the long mahogany table, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, feeling the vibration of the...

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