The Faded Root
The formaldehyde smell was sharp enough to sting the eyes, a chemical fog that hung in the sub-basement of the Bureau of Historical Records like a permanent, invisible guest. Elias Thorne adjusted his magnifying loupe, the glass trembling slightly against the rim of his glasses, and stared into the glass casing that held the Root. It was a tangle of brown, fibrous matter, preserved in a state...
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