The Golden Scar
The dream was always the same: a face made of honey, dissolving into the amber liquid that pooled in the hollows of her cheeks. Dr. Elias Thorne woke with the taste of copper and sugar on his tongue, the industrial fog of Oakhaven pressing against the windowpanes of his study. It was 1924, a year that smelled of coal dust and rot, and the city’s Board of Health had just issued its final decree....
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