The Wistful Campus
The whispering started in the left hand, a low thrumming that sounded like wind moving through a hollow reed, and by the time I finished writing this entry, the skin over my knuckles had begun to peel away in translucent strips, revealing not flesh but a dull, metallic grey beneath that pulsed with a rhythm entirely its own. I am Elias Thorne, Royal Guard of the First Cohort, and I have come to...
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