The Faded Root
You wake in the gray hall. The air tastes of iron and old paper. You are a seeker. You hunt the stain. The stain is red. It is on the floor. It is on the wall. It is on your hands. You do not remember putting it there. You do not remember waking up. You only know you must clean it. You must make the world white again. You must find the source. The hall stretches out. It has no end. The walls...
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