The Faded Sutra
The ink is black, but the Rot is grey. It moves like smoke in a still room, creeping from the margins of the parchment to devour the letters you have worked so hard to set. You are Elias, forty-two, and your hands shake so badly that the quill drags a stuttering line across the vellum. You want to finish the final page of the *Codex Aeterna*. You must do it before the Rot eats the last of your...
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