The Faded Alibi
The moss did not grow so much as it leaked, a slow, verdant hemorrhage that seeped out of the cracks in the floorboards of the house on Sycamore Lane, swallowing the dust and the silence and the memory of the years that had passed before Maren arrived to tend the rot, a woman whose hands were as gnarled and twisted as the roots of the ancient oaks that lined the street and whose eyes held the...
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