The Faded Chronicle
The stone was cold. It bit into the back of Silas’s hand as he gripped the iron rail. He stood in the archway. The light was thin. It came through the high windows. It dusted the floor with gray motes. He looked down. The courtyard lay silent. The cobblestones were wet. A drop of water fell from the eaves. It hit the stone. *Plip.* It sounded loud. It echoed. Silas did not move. He had been...
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