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Chapter 43: Terror of the Sleeping Forest
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The first thing he registered was the ceiling.
An old, wooden ceiling with a massive hole punched through its center that framed the moon like a portrait hung by a decorator with catastrophically poor taste.
The moon was full. Silver light spilled through the opening, painting everything in shades of mercury and shadow.
Beautiful in that haunting way that made you forget, temporarily, that you were probably going to die soon.
But something was wrong with ...
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