The Faded Frequency
14th of November, in the Year of the Withered Root. I write this by the light of a tallow candle that sputters and dies, only to be relit by my own trembling hands, for the wind has found the cracks in the ancient stones of this place, which is not a place on any map I have ever studied, nor in any library I have ever haunted, but a realm of mist and memory where the air tastes of iron and old...
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