The Faded Ruin
The dream began with the taste of copper and burnt sugar, a sensation so vivid it anchored Thomas Ashworth to the edge of a cliff that did not exist in any map he had ever studied. He was standing in a field of gray ash, the sky above a bruised purple, and in his hands he held a loaf of bread that was warm to the touch, pulsing with a faint, rhythmic heat like a second heart. He woke with his...
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