The Faded Shield
"Look at it, Thomas. Just look at it. The moss has eaten the crest. It is gone. The shield is just wood now." I stood by the window in my father’s study, the glass cold against my fingertips, listening to my mother’s voice cut through the heavy silence of the house. She was pointing at the old oak table where the shield hung, a tattered rectangle of leather and iron that had once been the...
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