The Golden Scar
The sulfur taste in your mouth is the first thing you notice when the decree is read, a metallic tang that coats the back of your throat like dried blood. You stand in the crowded market of Oakhaven, your hands still stiff from the loom, watching as the High Magistrate’s scribe unrolls the parchment with a snap that echoes off the stone walls. The announcement is simple, brutal, and final: all...
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