The Faded Quadrant
The mud was the first thing that spoke, not with words but with a sucking, heavy truth that pulled at the soles of Thomas’s boots as he scrambled up the slope of the abandoned quarry. It was a grey, sludge-like substance, cold and indifferent, coating his shins in a layer that felt less like dirt and more like the skin of a dead thing. He did not look down. To look down was to admit the weight...
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