The Faded Photograph
Your chisel bit into the limestone with a sound like a dry bone snapping, and the gargoyle’s left eye, which you had been refining for three weeks, finally settled into a socket of such profound, hollow darkness that it seemed to look back at you with a hunger that had nothing to do with stone. You wiped the grit from your thumb, the skin there rough and cracked from years of handling dust and...
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