The Golden Scar
My hands were already in the blood when I woke, the viscosity of it coating my palms like wet clay, and I did not look up until the weight of the High Curator’s body settled against my shins with a finality that stopped my breath. The stone chamber of the Archive smelled of old paper and copper, a scent that had permeated my clothes for three years, but now it was sharp, metallic, and...
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