The Faded River

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2026-08-22 10:56:28 -

The Faded River

The feast hall of the Abbey of St. Jude smelled of roasted lamb and wet wool, a cloying mixture that sat heavy in your throat as you stood in the shadows, watching the Abbot distribute the bread. You were twelve, small for your age, your fingers stained permanently black to the wrist from the ink you ground each dawn. You did not eat. You could not afford to waste the calories your body needed...

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