The Wistful Mirror
The bell tower of St. Jude’s Institute for the Aged and Infirmed did not ring; it groaned, a low, tectonic shudder that traveled through the limestone floor and up the soles of Elias Thorne’s shoes. He was not a priest, nor was he a doctor, though he wore the grey wool of the former and the stethoscope of the latter, a hybrid uniform that marked him as the Keeper of Secrets, the man to whom the...
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