The Faded Paradox
You stand at the edge of the black spruce forest, the air thick with the scent of decaying pine needles and the metallic tang of rain that has not yet fallen, feeling the weight of your service not as a burden of duty but as a physical erosion, a slow chipping away of the self by the relentless, indifferent friction of the world you swore to protect but which has decided, in its quiet and...
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