The Faded Root
The specimen on the glass shelf is dying, and I am the only one who has noticed the precise moment of its decay. It is a botanical root, thick as a man’s thumb, preserved in a solution that has turned the color of weak tea. I have been a page in the High Steward’s court for three years, a role that requires me to be invisible, to move with the silence of dust settling, and to know the exact...
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