The Distant Whispers
The hall of St. Jude’s was thick with the scent of boiled cabbage and stale beer, a pungent mixture that clung to the wool of my cloak and settled deep in the pores of my skin, but it was the sound that truly suffocated me, a low, rumbling chorus of voices that seemed to rise from the very cobblestones beneath the heavy oak tables, a cacophony of accusations and boasts that swirled around the...
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