The Golden Scar
The dream was always the same: a page of vellum, burning with script that did not fade but seared into the retina. Elias Ashcroft woke with a gasp, the taste of copper thick in his mouth, the damp chill of the manor walls pressing against his skin like a living thing. He was forty years old, an archivist of the estate, and his hands trembled as he reached for the ancestral ledger on his desk....
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