The Faded Root
The stone breaks. You feel it in your teeth. A jagged shard. White. Cold. It cracks the silence of the cellar. You are kneeling. The floor is wet. Damp. Old. The smell is of rot and iron. You are not alone. But you are alone. The chains are heavy. They pull at your wrists. You pull back. The metal bites. You do not bleed. You have bled too much. The blood is old. It has dried into the weave of...
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