The Faded Shield
The air in the cell was thick, not just with the stale sweat of twelve men but with a visible, creeping moss that grew from the damp stone walls, turning the gray rock into something green and breathing. We sat in the dark, the only light a single, sputering oil lamp that cast long, trembling shadows across the faces of the condemned. I am Thomas Bradshaw, and I have been here for three days,...
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