The Pale Path
The stone of the refectory was cold, a biting cold that seeped through the soles of William’s thin shoes and settled into the marrow of his bones, a physical weight that mirrored the invisible burden he had carried for three years within the walls of St. Jude’s. It was not the dampness of the cellar, nor the draft from the high arched windows, but the very essence of the place that felt...
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