The Faded Root
The bell of St. Jude’s did not ring so much as it sighed, a low, metallic exhalation that seemed to vibrate in the marrow of my bones. I stood in the nave, the stone floor cold through the thin soles of my shoes, watching the dust motes dance in the shafts of light that pierced the stained glass. It was a Tuesday, or perhaps a Wednesday; time had become a fluid, viscous thing in this place,...
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