The Faded Apartment
The spire of St. Jude’s did not fall with a crash, but with a sigh, a long, exhalation of stone that seemed to carry the weight of three centuries of prayers. It toppled inward, crushing the nave, sealing the sanctuary in a tomb of dust and silence. Elias Vane stood on the gallery, his boots trembling not from fear, but from the sheer, terrible magnitude of the void left behind. He was not a...
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