The Faded River
I woke from a dream where the water was not water but a thick, grey paste that smelled of old iron and burnt sugar, and in that waking moment, standing in the blue-tinged dark of my workshop, I knew with a certainty that felt like a physical blow to the chest that I had been wrong, that I had been so terribly and fundamentally wrong about the nature of the thing I had spent my life trying to...
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