The Golden Song
The rain had not stopped for three days, a relentless, gray curtain that turned the cobblestones of the Abbey of St. Jude’s into a slick, treacherous maze of mud and stone. I stood in the cloister, my boots sinking slightly into the wet earth, watching the water drip from the carved gargoyles with a rhythmic, hollow thud that seemed to echo the beating of my own heart. I was a junior archivist,...
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