The Wistful Silence
The great oak door of St. Jude’s Academy groaned open, a sound like a dying breath. "Close it, boy," said Father Thomas. His voice was dry as parchment. "The wind carries the sickness." Elias closed the door. He was twelve. His hands shook. He was small for his age, with eyes the color of wet slate. He looked at the priest. The priest looked at the floor. The floor was cold stone. It had been...
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