The Faded Alibi
The black mold crept up the north wall of the chapel, a velvet stain that smelled of wet earth and old blood, and I watched it with the same grim satisfaction I felt when I confessed to stealing the silver thimble from Mother’s drawer. It was a game I had invented, a logic so pure it felt like mathematics: if I spoke the truth, the rot would retreat; if I lied, it would devour the stone. I was...
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