The Faded Alibi
You are kneeling. The stone is cold. It bites into your knees. You are in the cellar. It smells of wet rot. Of old blood. Of fear. Above you, the floorboards creak. Boots. Heavy boots. They stop. One. Two. Three. Then silence. You hold the chain. It is heavy. Iron. Rusted. It hangs from your neck. It is the only thing you have. The only thing that matters. It was your mother’s. She wore it...
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