The Faded Ruin
You stand in the center of the room, a space so small and claustrophobic that the air itself feels like a solid, viscous substance pressing against your eardrums, and you are holding the ceramic vessel, the one that used to be whole, the one that held the last of the distilled memory fluid, and now it is broken, shattered into a dozen jagged, translucent shards that catch the dim, flickering...
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