The Faded Chronicle
The rain had not stopped for three days, turning the mud outside the dormitory windows into a slick, brown paste that smelled of wet wool and decay. I sat at the desk, the wood warped by the damp air of the basement room, and listened to the drip of water from the eaves. It was a rhythmic, indifferent sound, counting out the seconds of my life as they fell into the dark. My name was Arthur,...
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