Chapter 63 · for subscribers
She was down for the time it takes to lay a fire. Nothing in her needed air and nothing in her was heavy enough to sink, so she went down the drowned bell-tower hand over hand along its louvres, and she came up at the foot of the wall eight hundred breaths later with silt in her teeth and no answer, because a spirit who weighs nothing cannot shift a door that four hundred years of mud has shut.
Artwork and narration generated with AI.