The Faded Paradox
The taste of iron and burnt sugar coated the back of Sergeant Elias Thorne’s mouth, a viscous, metallic film that refused to wash away even after he had scrubbed his teeth with pumice and salt. It was a dream, or perhaps a fever, that had dragged him back to the edge of the precipice where the world’s texture had begun to rot, where the air itself tasted of the preservatives they used in the...
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