The Faded Root
The pain was a white noise, a static hiss that filled the hollow of my skull. I stood in the center of the parlor, the air thick with the smell of wet wool and ozone. My left hand was not mine anymore. It had begun to separate at the wrist, the flesh unraveling into threads of pale silk that drifted upward like smoke. I did not scream. Screaming was a luxury for those who still believed in the...
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