The Golden Scar
The scales in your hand tremble, a fine vibration that travels up your wrist and settles in your teeth. You weigh the last of the saffron threads, three grains, four, five, until the needle holds steady at the precise mark Silas had etched into the brass. It is a small thing, this weighing, but it feels like the heaviest labor you have ever performed, heavier than the sacks of coal you hauled...
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