The Golden Scar
Act I Lamyai Panyasiri’s hands shook as he unrolled the parchment, the silk threads snapping against the cold stone floor of the rotunda. The air smelled of dust and old lacquer, heavy with the scent of the bronze razor his mother had kept in a velvet pouch, now tucked into his sash where it pressed a familiar, cold line against his hip. He had spent three years measuring the cracks in the...
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