The Faded Root
The floorboards groaned under Elias’s boots. They were old oaks. Dark and worn. The Palace had no windows. It was a box of stone. A box of silence. "Is he here?" Elias asked. He did not look up. He looked at his hands. They were rough. They were red. They were trembling. The woman behind him did not answer. She stood in the doorway. She was small. She was pale. She held a clipboard. It was...
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