The Faded Root
You wake up holding a root. It is not a vegetable. It is not a tool. It is a letter. It is a contract. It is a chain. The stem is pale and thick, like a finger bone. The leaves are black ink, dry and brittle. You hold it in your left hand. Your right hand is empty. You are in a city that does not have a name on the map. The buildings are made of glass and silence. The people are moving fast....
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