The Faded Root
The building was not a building at all, but a skeleton of rusted iron and shattered glass that I had mistaken for my own ribcage until the cold seeped through the soles of my boots and woke me from the recurring dream where the walls breathed in and out with the rhythm of my own failing lungs. I stood in the center of the rotunda, a vast, circular space that had once been the heart of the...
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