The Faded Quadrant
The moss was green. Not the vibrant, wet green of spring, but a thick, velvet grey-green that swallowed the light. It grew over the stones of the courtyard. It grew over the iron gates. It grew over my hands as I knelt there, scraping at the earth with a rusted trowel. I was a detective of decay. That was my title in the court of Lord Ashworth. Not a knight. Not a squire. A finder. A seeker of...
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