The Golden Scar
The dream always began with the smell of ozone and rot, a metallic tang that coated the back of Elias Thorne’s throat before he even opened his eyes, and in the dream his hands were not his own but thick, swollen things stained with a blackness that smoked and hissed against the skin, burning away the flesh to reveal the bone beneath, a vivid, acidic pain that woke him in the sterile white bed...
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