The Faded Root

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2026-08-17 22:47:56 -

The Faded Root

The mortar in my trowel was thick as wet clay, and the dust of the old stone choked my lungs as I worked to breach the wall of the east tower. My hands were bleeding, the skin stripped raw against the cold, damp brick, but I did not stop. The rhythm of the strike was the only thing that kept the screaming in my head at bay. I was an investigator of sorts, or at least that is what I told myself...

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