The Faded Root

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2026-08-20 18:30:43 -

The Faded Root

The rain in this place does not fall; it hangs. It is a thick, grey wool that settles on your shoulders and stays there, heavy and damp, soaking into the fabric of your coat until you feel the weight of the atmosphere pressing against your ribs. You stand at the edge of the pier, a structure of black iron and rotting wood that extends into a sea which is not water but a churning, viscous mist....

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