CDL 21: Crimson Lake


He stood before a lake of blood, as the fiercely setting sun lit the thick water with the guilt of war. The last place to be built here was, like the husk of a boiled insect, beautiful, yet no longer wild. It had surrendered to the inevitable, adulterated with cinnabar and starch, dissolved with ammonia, part of the relentless expansion into any suitable land left inhabitable.

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