The Golden Ritual
The morning began not with the sun, but with the rhythmic, metallic thud of the clock tower in St. Jude’s Industrial Academy, a sound that seemed to drill directly into the hollows of Thomas Bradshaw’s skull. He stood before the full-length mirror in his dressing room, a space stripped of all personal vanity save for the steel rack of uniforms and the faint, persistent smell of lavender water...
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