The Faded Apartment
The wood is wet, Elias. Silas’s voice was not loud, but it carried the weight of the damp stone behind him, a sound that seemed to leak out of the chapel walls themselves as he stood in the doorway, watching me with eyes that had seen too many winters and too little forgiveness. I looked up from the chisel in my hand, the iron blade still buried in the rotting heart of the central pillar, and...
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