The Golden Echoes
The road to the Abbey of St. Jude was a ribbon of red clay that wound through the mist like a vein beneath pale skin. I walked it not for pilgrimage, but for penance, carrying the weight of a lifetime’s scholarship in my satchel and the ghost of a promise in my chest. The air was thick with the smell of wet moss and ancient stone, a scent that seemed to seep into my bones, reminding me that...
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