The Faded Ruin
The ivy grows without end. It climbs the high, glass-walled towers of the Ministry of Continuity, a green, silent tide that swallows the steel and stone, indifferent to the human hands that planted it centuries ago. You stand before it now, your hand pressed against the cool, rough texture of the leaves, feeling the persistent pulse of life beneath your fingertips. It does not die. It does not...
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