The Faded Alibi
The frost had not yet claimed the cathedral, but it had claimed my lungs. I am Elias, a man of forty years, and the master of the glasshouse in Bruges. My contract with the Bishop is simple: complete the rose window before the first snow settles on the spires. The central pane is a complex geometry of amber and violet, a design I have labored over for three years. It is the only thing that...
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