The Distant Affair
Act I The stone remembers what the mouth forgets. This is the first truth of the Weeping Spire, a cathedral grown from the bones of the valley, where the air tastes of iron and old snow. I stood before the altar, my hands slick with sweat that had nothing to do with the cold. The walls were not merely stone; they were a mirror, a living thing that breathed in the shape of my guilt. I was...
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