The Faded Guest
The ledger weighed three pounds, four ounces, and the damp of the cellar seemed to seep into the weight of it, pressing the spine of my will toward the floor. I had counted the hours of silence in the Abbey of St. Jude for twelve years, tracking the decay of vellum and the slow, silent rot of ink, but this object, pulled from a collapsed shelf in the sub-basement, felt heavier than paper and...
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