The Faded Root
The fluorescent lights of the Ministry’s basement laboratory hummed with a frequency that seemed to drill directly into the marrow of my bones, a sterile, white void where the air tasted of ozone and old paper, and I woke with my hands stained a bruised purple by the iridescent residue of the Faded Root, a fungal specimen that had been whispering my dead wife’s name, Mara, in a voice like dry...
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