The Faded Ruin
Act I Liliane Etienne was thirty-two years old and her hands were always cold. I kept the house on sixty-three of Marsh Hollow, a place where the mud sucked at your boots with a hunger that never slept. The Grey Withering had taken Julian five years ago, but it had not finished its work. His body sat in the parlor, slowly turning into a statue of grey stone, and I was the only one who knew how...
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