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The glass cuts deep into your palm as you lunge towards the tentacle with the makeshift blade. As you struggle with the beast your blood drips onto the floor becoming a puddle which becomes a pool which grows until you are waist deep in your own blood fighting the tentacled beast.

Eventually you slay the beast and step back from its tattered corpse, but something doesn't seem quite right, waist deep? in your own blood?

You're not sure if you are imagining things or not but decide to build a raft just in case

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excerpt from Grimoire   by cheshiregrin

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