The Faded Road
The stone of the priory wall did not breathe, yet it seemed to inhale the dampness of the century, drawing it into its porous heart like a sponge soaked in wine. I sat in the corner of the refectory, my back pressed against the cold masonry, watching the dust motes dance in the single shaft of light that pierced the gloom. It was a light of no particular color, pale and thin as a vein, and it...
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