The Faded Dust
The vaulted ceiling of the Abbey of St. Jude seemed to press down upon us, a canopy of shadowed stone that swallowed the thin light filtering through the high, narrow windows. I stood among the villagers, twelve years old and shivering, though not from the cold, but from the sheer weight of the silence that hung in the dust-choked air. Abbot Corvinus stood at the altar, his face a mask of iron,...
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