The Faded Chronicle
The dream began not with a sound but with a weight, a heavy, humid pressure against the eardrums that tasted of copper and old, stagnant rain, the kind of atmospheric dread that settles over the marshlands of the low country before a storm breaks, and in this suspended state of semi-consciousness, young Elias Thorne saw the lake. It was not the lake he knew, the one with the muddy bottom and...
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