The Faded Road

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2026-08-19 22:04:33 -

The Faded Road

The hand is a map of ruin. I look at it. The knuckles are swollen. The skin is torn. Blood dries in the creases. It is my hand. Or rather, it is the hand of the man I was. The air in the cellar is cold. It smells of damp stone and old rot. I am alone. The silence is heavy. It presses against my eardrums. I am a keeper. A warden of this dark place. The institution is a fortress of stone. It has...

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