The Faded Root
The bell tower of St. Jude’s rang out a discordant, shattering cry, not the deep bronze hum of salvation, but the jagged shriek of a bone snapping under a boot. You are running. Your feet, bare against the wet cobblestones of the market square, are slick with the rain that has been falling since the vespers, a cold, grey sheet that blurs the line between the stone and the sky. Behind you, the...
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