The Distant Promise
The air in the cellar does not move. It hangs heavy, thick with the scent of damp earth and the metallic tang of old blood, a smell that has seeped into the porous limestone walls and refuses to leave even after the years have passed. You are here, kneeling on the cold stone floor, your hands bound with rope that has long since rotted into fraying strips, your wrists raw and weeping beneath the...
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