The Faded Guest

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2026-08-17 08:56:03 -

The Faded Guest

The iron pot sits in the center of the refectory table, a black eye staring up at you, and the smell of boiled turnips and stale tallow fills your nostrils so thickly that you feel it coating the back of your throat, a physical weight that makes it hard to breathe, hard to think, hard to remember why you are standing there with your hands clasped behind your back while the Abbot watches you...

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