The Golden Scar
Act I Who keeps a broken thing? The question hung in the stale air of the workshop, a scent of sulfur and cold sweat that clung to the linoleum floors of Aethelgard’s glass district. I am Hiroshi Kato, a master blower, though the title meant little now that the State had begun its Clarity Tax, a mandate that stripped unregistered objects from our hands as if we were thieves in our own homes. My...
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