The Wistful Show
You wake with the taste of iron and old dust on your tongue, the air in the chapel thick and heavy as wet wool, pressing against your skin in a way that makes it difficult to draw a full breath. It is not the silence of the place that troubles you, but the weight of it, a physical presence that settles into your bones and refuses to lift. You are in the crypt beneath St. Jude’s, in the village...
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