The Distant Affair
You know the sound. It is a dry crack. Like a knuckle popping in a silent room. Like a branch snapping under snow. It happens to you. Not to the stone. To the inscription. The words carved into the granite slab are fading. You watch it. You do not blink. The letters are softening. The edges blur. The ink of your memory bleeds into the rock. You are a scholar. You study the dead. Specifically,...
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