The Faded Paradox
The rain did not fall; it hung in the air, a grey curtain that smelled of wet wool and old blood. I stood on the edge of the cliff, my boots sinking into the mud, watching the sea below churn into a froth of white teeth. The wind tore at my coat, a heavy thing of black leather, stiff with the damp. It was not just clothing. It was skin. It was bone. It was the only part of me that still had...
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