The Pale Echo
The bell tolled. It was not a sound. It was a weight. It pressed against my skull. I woke in the mud. The mud was cold. It was thick. It tasted of iron. I spatted. I stood up. My legs shook. I looked at my hands. They were red. Not with blood. With rust. Or so I thought. I was in the crypt. The stone was wet. The air was stale. I knew this place. I had walked these halls for years. I was the...
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