It has been five days, now. Five days since I made the choice. Five days since I closed the gate.
Really, there was no choice. Rovato was damned when the first spot appeared: when the first bloody cough ensued from the mouth of an urchin. To have allowed the sick sanctuary at Saint Cuthbert's would only have damned us as well.
But we were already damned.
The plague came. And now we suffer.
1st place (out of 36) in the 11th Annual Interactive Fiction Competition.
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