The Faded Ruin
"Do you remember the ivy?" The question hung in the air, brittle and sharp, cutting through the stale silence of the cellar. I looked at Elias. He was hunched over his workbench, the dim light catching the dust motes dancing around his thinning hair. He did not look up. His hands, stained with the dark residue of the ink we mixed for the ledgers, moved with a mechanical precision that had long...
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