The Faded Sutra
"You are mistaken, Arthur." The voice came from the shadows of the high ceiling. It was not a shout. It was a whisper. It cut through the air like a blade. Arthur stood still. He held the scroll. The paper was thin. It was old. It smelled of dust and decay. It smelled of time. "Who is there?" he asked. His voice was small. It trembled. "Look at the floor, Arthur." He looked down. The stone...
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