The Golden Scar
The air in the valley of Oakhaven tastes of copper and wet ash, a metallic tang that coats the back of your throat long before you can swallow, a sensation that has become so intimate it feels less like an environmental hazard and more like a second skin, a layer of grime that no amount of scrubbing with lye and hot water can ever fully remove from the pores of your flesh. You stand before the...
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