The Golden Scar
The alarm did not ring. It never does, not really. It is a hum in the walls, a vibration in the floorboards that you feel in your teeth before you hear it in your ears. You wake. You do not remember sleeping. The light in the room is the same pale, sterile grey it has been for years. It does not change with the sun. It does not change with the weather. It is the light of the Archive, and it is...
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