The Golden Scar
The dream is always the same: a golden thread unspooling from the heart, stitching the sky shut. You wake with the taste of copper in your mouth, the phantom ache of a needle in your palm. It is the winter of 1893, and the frost has crept into the bones of the city, turning the cobblestones into treacherous mirrors. You are Elias Thorne, forty-two years old, a master engraver whose hands have...
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