The Golden Scar
14 October, 2039 The pain is a living thing, a golden text written in fire across my sternum, and it rewrites itself every time I draw a breath, the letters shifting from guilt to grief to a silence that feels like ash. I am Elias Thorne, forty-two years old, though the mirror shows a man of sixty, his hair bleached white by the heat radiating from the scar that the Regime’s Memory Keepers...
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