The Golden Scar
"Show me the mark." The voice was thin. It scraped against the silence of the room. You held your breath. The air tasted of dust and old paper. It tasted of fear. You looked down at your hand. The skin was pale. The lines were deep. You turned it over. Slowly. Deliberately. The scar was there. A jagged white line. It ran from your wrist to your elbow. It was ugly. It was bright. It was the only...
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