The Pale Garden
The rain did not fall so much as it hung in the air, a thick, grey curtain that smothered the high windows of the St. Jude’s Institute for the Preservation of Historical Records. Dr. Elias Thorne stood before the massive oak desk, his hands trembling not from the chill that seeped through the stone walls, but from the terrible, humming weight of the object resting in the center of the blotter....
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