The Faded Root

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2026-08-22 20:02:17 -

The Faded Root

October 12, 1893. The mist has not lifted from the valley since dawn, and it clings to the windows of my room like a living thing, pressing its cold face against the glass. I am twelve years old, and my hands shake as I write this, not from the cold, but from the weight of the letter tucked into my shirt. My father is dying, his breath rattling in the bed downstairs like dry leaves skittering...

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