The Faded River
The air in the Great Hall of St. Jude’s was not merely stale, but thick with the scent of damp stone and the metallic tang of fear, a perfume that had settled into the very mortar of the walls over centuries of unspoken tragedies and the slow, grinding erosion of dignity. It was a space that did not breathe, a sealed tomb where the light from the high, narrow windows fell in shafts so pale and...
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