The Faded Ruin
The glass slips from your fingers before the door is fully latched, the sound it makes against the stone floor a sharp, brittle crack that cuts through the low, constant hum of the ventilation fans in the Gray Ward apothecary. You stand there, your hands hanging useless at your sides, watching the vial shatter into a dozen jagged pieces that scatter like dark seeds across the grime-streaked...
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