The Faded Quadrant

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2026-08-20 12:07:44 -

I dreamt of the ink. It was black. It was wet. It smelled of iron. I woke with the smell in my nose. My hands were stained. The workshop was cold. The fire was dead. I lit a taper. The flames caught. The shadows moved. I looked at my hands. The stains were gone. My hands were clean. But the ink was there. On the wall. On the desk. On the floor. It was everywhere. A single drop. A large drop. It...

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