The Faded Photograph
The ink on the ledger was not yet dry when Thomas Bradshaw looked up from his work, his fingers stained a deep, bruised purple that seemed to have seeped into the whorls of his skin, and he saw that the woman standing in the doorway was not the same woman who had entered the chapel three hours prior, nor was the light falling through the stained glass the light that had illuminated his morning...
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