The Faded Root
The road into the town of Harrow’s End was not merely a path but a scar, a long, jagged laceration in the earth that bled mud and gravel under the relentless, gray weeping of the industrial sky. I walked it with the heavy, deliberate stride of one who carries a burden not of flesh, but of essence, my feet sinking into the wet clay as if the ground itself were trying to swallow me whole, to...
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