The Faded Apartment
The ink on the page is wet, a viscous black that refuses to dry, seeping into the grain of the paper like a bruise forming under the skin. I am Sergeant Elias Thorne, and I write this from the crumbling outpost of Kael’s Rest, where the border dissolves not into land, but into a fog so thick it has weight, pressing against the windowpanes with the persistence of a creditor. I have served twenty...
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