The Golden Scar
Chapter One The ink dries black, but the debt remains red. I remember the smell of the Bureau before I ever saw the room, a thick, metallic tang of iron filings and damp peat that clung to the back of my throat like a swallowed stone. It was the year 402 of the Cycle, and I was twelve years old, standing in the care-home day room where the television hummed a low, static-filled prayer while the...
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