The Faded Root
Dreams have a texture, like wet wool, and in the one that kept pulling Elias back to the surface, the kitchen table was made of bone. He was standing in the center of the room, his boots heavy on the floorboards that groaned like living things. The air smelled of copper and stale rain. On the table sat a bowl of soup, thick and gray, steaming in a cold room. His daughter, Clara, was sitting...
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