The Golden Scar
The ink was hot. That was the first thing I noticed, not the pain, but the heat rising off the parchment like steam from a fresh loaf, a warmth that should have been comforting but felt instead like a burn. I am Enzo Bellini, and I was forty-two of Widow’s Landing’s most diligent scribes, a man who measured his worth in the neatness of his script and the silence of his hands. I had come to the...
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