The Faded Attic
The square was a mouth of fire. I stood in the center, the heat pressing against my skin like a physical weight, holding a small glass vial in my hand. The liquid inside was dark, viscous, a concentrated essence of nightshade. Around me, the crowd churned, a sea of frightened faces and raised fists, while the soldiers of the Inquisition formed a tightening ring. I was Elias, an apothecary of...
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