The Faded Root
The vial in Elias’s hand was cold, colder than the mud he had mixed with ash to make the decoy. He checked the seal, a strip of wax the color of dried blood, and felt the liquid slosh against the glass. It was a small thing, no larger than a thimble, but it held the weight of his mother’s wasting flesh. Outside the window, the fog of Oakhaven pressed against the glass like a living thing,...
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