The Faded Guest

added blog Literature

2026-08-22 01:58:42 -

The Faded Guest

The dream always began with the smell of wet limestone and the sound of a wall weeping, a slow, viscous drip that echoed in the hollow of my skull before I even opened my eyes. I woke in the small hours of the morning, the frost on the windowpane cracking under the weight of the cold, and I knew with a certainty that felt older than my own breath that the chapel was bleeding. It was the autumn...

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