The Distant Affair
The iron gate of the Priory of St. Jude did not open with a creak but with a groan that sounded like a man clearing his throat before he spoke a lie you already knew, and you stood in the mud of the courtyard, your boots sinking into the cold, black earth that smelled of rot and old prayers, the rain falling in sheets that blurred the world into a watercolor of grey stone and dying leaves. You...
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