The Wistful Saga
The air in the chapel was thick, not with incense, but with the heavy, damp smell of wet wool and old stone. It was a smell that had seeped into the bones of the building over centuries, a smell that Thomas knew in his sleep. He sat on the stone floor, his back against the cold altar rail, watching the rain streak the high, narrow windows. The light coming through was grey and flat, offering no...
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