The Faded Sutra

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2026-08-23 12:18:00 -

The Faded Sutra

The ink on my fingertips was not dry, but wet, a slick, black film that had seeped through the skin of my hands as I handled the ledger, a texture that felt less like pigment and more like the bruised flesh of a dead thing. I held the quill steady, trying to write the date, but the letters blurred into a dark smear, the nib scratching against the parchment with a sound like a mouse gnawing on...

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