The Golden Scar
The pen was slipping in Elias Thorne’s hand, the nib scratching against the cold, damp paper of his ledger with a sound like a rat gnawing on dry wood. He was cataloging the weeping fissure in the center of Oakhaven Park, a jagged tear in the earth that pulsed with a sickly, golden light, and his fingers were raw, the skin split and bleeding into the ink as he transcribed the murmurs that rose...
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