The Faded Sutra
The feast was a riot of color and noise, a sensory assault that seemed designed to drown out the silence of the soul. We gathered in the great hall of the Abbey of Saint Cuthbert, a structure of stone so ancient it felt less built and more grown from the earth itself, its walls sweating with the dampness of centuries. I sat at the end of the long table, a place of honor that felt more like a...
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