The Faded Quadrant

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2026-08-21 13:48:49 -

The iron gates of Blackwood Manor did not rust. They simply wore thin. Like skin over bone, the metal had lost its sheen, becoming a pale, flaking ghost of its former strength. Elias stood before them, his small hands gripping the cold bars. He was twelve, though he felt older. The air smelled of wet slate and decay. It was the smell of time eating itself. The manor sat atop the hill, a jagged...

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