The Faded Bouquet
You have been walking for three days without stopping, and the forest has begun to feel less like a place and more like a state of mind, a thick, damp grey fog that settles into your bones and refuses to lift. The air here is heavy, smelling of wet rot and ancient stone, and every step you take feels less like movement and more like a surrender to the pull of the earth beneath you. You are an...
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