The Faded Guest

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2026-08-21 18:21:46 -

The Faded Guest

The iron pot was dented, blackened by centuries of soot, and hung from a hook in the cellar that had long since rusted through. Margaret held it in her hands, the metal cold as a river stone, feeling the weight of its history press against her palms. It was not a weapon, not in the way a sword or a dagger was a weapon, but in the dim, moldy dark of the servant’s quarters, it was the only thing...

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