The Faded Paradox
The mud sucked at my boots. Deep. Wet. Cold. I stopped. Breathed. The rain did not fall. It hung. A gray curtain over the moor. My name is Elias Thorne. I am a detective. Or I was. Now I am a ghost in my own life. I looked at the body. It was not a body. It was a shape. A mound of rags and mud. I knelt. My knees cracked. The face was hidden. I pulled the hood back. Marrow. No. Not marrow. My...
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