The Faded Apartment
The black spots appeared on the backs of your hands like ink blots spreading through wet parchment, yet you did not stop the shuttle, for the crimson velvet must be finished before the solstice or Lord Aldric would seize the estate and leave your widow with nothing but the dust of the loom. You are Elias, a master weaver of forty years, and the sweating sickness has taken root in your lungs, a...
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