The Faded Apartment
The debt is three shillings and two pence short, and the ledger is wet. I stood before the Mayor, my boots squelching on the stone floor of the Hall, while the air around us grew thick with the scent of rotting wood. He looked at the paper in my hand, then at my face, as if the stain of my father’s name were a visible blemish on my skin. The dampness in the room was not merely the weather; it...
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