The Distant Temple
The iron gates of the St. Jude’s Institute for the Correction of Female Morals did not so much close as they seemed to exhale a heavy, rusted sigh, sealing Margaret inside a world where the air tasted of damp limestone and the metallic tang of old blood, a place where the geometry of the walls was designed not to protect but to crush the spirit into a shape that fit the institution’s rigid,...
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