The Golden Scar
The small brass key sat in the palm of Elara Vane, cold and heavy against the sweat of her skin, its teeth worn smooth by decades of use. She held it up to the fluorescent light of the archiving room, watching the metal catch the glare, and for a moment she was not in the sterile white corridors of the Aethelgard State but standing in a field of gold dust, her skin peeling away in long,...
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