The Golden Scar
The date is not written, but the ink is brown and smudged, bleeding into the coarse paper as if the hand that held the pen was shaking. I am Elias Thorne, thirty-two years old, a border enforcer for the Northern Ministry. My lungs do not ache, but Mara’s do. She coughs a wet, rattling sound that I can hear from the other side of the thin wall of our quarters, a sound that has become the...
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