The Faded Root
You hold the root. It is dry. It is pale as bone. It looks like a finger. You are in the Hall of Whispers. The air is thick. It smells of wet stone and old tea. You sit on a stone bench. Your legs are crossed. You do not move. A door opens. It is small. It is wooden. A woman enters. She is old. Her hair is white. It hangs loose. It covers her face. She does not look up. She walks to you. She...
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