The Faded Root
The mud is the first thing you notice. It is not the brown, organic slush of a farmyard, but a thick, viscous grey paste that clings to your boots with a tenacity that feels almost deliberate. You are standing in the center of a street that used to be called Main, now just a trench of wet earth and shattered brick. Above you, the sky is a bruised purple, heavy with the scent of ozone and burnt...
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