The Faded Root
The bell rings. It is not a chime. It is a scream of metal bent beyond its tolerance. You hear it in your teeth. In your marrow. The house shakes. Dust falls from the ceiling beams. It lands on your coat. You do not move. You are sitting in the armchair. The leather is cracked. It smells of old tobacco and damp wool. You are holding the coat. It is your father’s coat. It is the only thing left...
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