The Golden Scar
The dream was always the same: a cascade of gold dust falling in slow motion, coating the sterile white tiles of the Ministry’s archive, turning the air into a thick, sweet syrup that Elara could not breathe. She woke with a gasp, her lungs burning, and the first thing she saw was the trembling of her own hands. The skin on her knuckles had gone translucent, the blue veins beneath pulsing with...
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