The Faded Frontier
The cellar smelled of wet stone and old iron. Silas stood in the center. His coat was damp. The rain had not stopped. It had not stopped for three days. The town of Oakhaven was drowning. Not in water. In ink. Black, viscous ink. It rose from the sewers. It climbed the brick walls. It coated the cobblestones. Silas watched it drip from the ceiling. *Tick.* *Tick.* *Tick.* He held the book. It...
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