The Golden Scar
The dream always began with the sound of tearing silk, a high, thin shriek that split the horizon in two. Elias Thorne woke gasping, the sweat cooling on his skin, the golden scar pulsing in time with his heartbeat like a second pulse. He was a glassblower, a craftsman of the old school in a world that had long since abandoned the hand for the machine, and he was forty years old, though the...
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