The Faded Paradox
The ink was dry. It had been dry for three days. Elias held the quill like a bone. A thin, white thing. He looked at the page. The letters were there. Sharp. Black. Unmoving. He tried to read them. The shapes slid away. They were not words. They were shadows. Shadows with teeth. He was alone. The tower was tall. The wind hit the stone. It sounded like a scream. A long, low moan. It came from...
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