The Faded Paradox
The rain hits the flagstones like gravel. You are wet. You are tired. Your sword arm aches with a dull, persistent throb that sits deep in the bone, a reminder of the morning’s skirmish in the mud. You are standing in the chapel of St. Jude’s, the largest institution in the county, its walls thick enough to hold back the storm and the rot of the world outside. The air smells of damp wool, old...
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