The Faded Chronicle
The rain hit the slate roof like gravel. Thump. Thump. Thump. Silas stood in the center of the cellar. He held the lantern high. The glass was cracked. A shard hung loose. It swung. It caught the light. It cut the air. Silas was small. He was bent. His back ached. The ache was old. It lived in his spine. It was a resident. It did not leave. He looked at the wall. The brick was wet. The mortar...
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