The Faded Sutra
Act I "You can't burn what isn't there, Guadalupe, you know that." The Abbot’s voice was dry as the dust that coated the rafters of the sealed cellar, a place where the air tasted of wet stone and old iron, and where the only light came from the single, sputtering tallow candle he held with a hand that trembled not from age but from a fear he refused to name. Guadalupe Bermudez stood in the...
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