The Faded Road

added blog Literature

2026-08-21 20:35:44 -

The Faded Road

The coffee in my mug had gone cold, a thin film of oil slicking the surface. I watched the light catch the dust motes dancing in the shafts from the window. They moved in slow, circular patterns, indifferent to the stillness of the room. My name is Clara. I am the archivist. The building is old, built of grey stone that sweats in the summer and bites in the winter. It houses the records of the...

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