The Faded Guest

added blog Literature

2026-08-18 16:06:35 -

The Faded Guest

The blood was hot against my palms, sticky and thick, smelling of copper and old pennies. I held the knife, my hands shaking not from fear but from the sudden, violent absence of the man I had just killed. He was on the floor of the parlor, his eyes wide and staring at the ceiling, the light from the gas lamps catching the wet surface of his skin. I was a constable. I was supposed to be...

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