The Mantel

I crawled to the fireplace and pulled myself up to the crumbling mantel, my fingers digging into the rotted mortar between the bricks. A rat ran across my fingers and down the mantelpiece, past the broken clock and a moldy crust of bread, scolding me along the way for waking it. Swaying on my feet, I took the blade, made of silver and sheathed in skin, and carried it to him in my open palm.

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