The Faded Root
The jar is warm in your hand, a strange, biological heat that pulses against the cold wood of the table, and you are grinding the last of the root into a fine, glowing powder while the sound of Lord Vane’s laughter echoes from the dining room, a wet, heavy sound that seems to dampen the air in the small study. You are Elias Thorne, forty-two, and you have been the archivist of this sealed...
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