The Faded Root
The old oak had been dying for a decade, its roots gnawed by the white rot of time, and I had watched it with the patience of a man who knows he is being watched in return. I sat on the porch of the Ashworth estate, my fingers stained with the black dirt of the cellar where I had spent the last three days digging. The air smelled of damp earth and impending rain, a scent that always reminded me...
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