The Faded Road
The blade bit into the skin of my forearm with a precision that felt less like pain and more like a mechanical adjustment, a tightening of the screw that holds the day in place. I watched the dark red bead swell, caught the moment it reached the capillary limit, and twisted the stopcock on the glass siphon. The blood ran, thin and steady, into the root system of the *Aethelgard* plant that...
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