The Faded Chronicle

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2026-08-19 02:07:53 -

The ink on my hands was not merely dark, but a living, suffocating weight, a viscous sludge that seeped into the whorls of my fingerprints and hardened there, turning my skin into something brittle and black, a shell for the creature I had been forced to become, and I stood in the center of the Great Hall, a place that was not a hall at all but a cathedral of suspended time, where the air...

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