The Faded Alibi
You are the magistrate, and you are the sickness. "Is it ready?" Silas asked. His voice was flat, stripped of the deference he had worn for twelve years. He stood by the window, where the gray light of the autumn afternoon fell in a dull sheet across the floorboards. The silence in the room was not empty; it was heavy, filled with the low, wet hum of the rot that had settled into the walls of...
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