The Faded Alibi
The iron lantern hangs from the hook by the door, its glass panes clouded with age, its flame a steady, defiant eye in the dark. You know it well. It is the only thing in the house that has not changed, the only thing that remembers the shape of the room before the walls were stripped of their dignity by time and war. You stand in the center of the hall, your boots heavy on the flagstones,...
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