The Faded Root

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2026-08-23 14:33:18 -

The Faded Root

The ink smelled of rot before it touched the parchment. I woke with the stench in my throat, a thick, coppery taste that coated my tongue like the residue of old blood. My hands were stained black to the second knuckle, the pigment seeping into the whorls of my fingerprints, and for a moment I could not tell if I was holding a quill or a knife. It was the fourth time this week that the dream...

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