The Faded Guest
The glass shattered in Elias Thorne’s palm, the shards biting into the flesh with a cold, sharp precision that felt almost personal. He did not cry out. In the damp cellar of the Blackwood Inn, the air hung heavy with the scent of rotting wood and the metallic tang of the tincture now pooling on the stone floor. Elias stared at the ruin in his hand, the vial of nightshade he had distilled for...
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