The Faded Paradox
The candle guttered in the iron sconce, casting long, trembling shadows against the damp stone of the cell. Elias Thorne sat on the cold floor, his hands resting on his knees, trembling with a rhythm that matched the erratic flutter of his heart. He was forty-two years old, yet he felt ancient, as if the years had been compressed into a single, suffocating breath. He reached into his tunic and...
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