The Faded Chronicle
The wall was cold. It pressed against my back like a dead thing. I sat in the corner of the cellar, my knees pulled to my chest. The air smelled of damp earth and old iron. My uniform was torn at the shoulder. Blood had dried there, stiff and black. I had not moved in hours. I waited. My father’s house was quiet. Too quiet. The silence had a weight to it. It settled in my ears. It sat on my...
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