The Wistful Show
The morning mist clung to the stone walls of the Abbey of St. Jude like a shroud that refused to be peeled away. Brother Elias stood at the heavy oak door, his hands trembling not from the cold, but from the weight of the silence that had settled over the refectory. He was not a man of action, nor of grand rhetoric, but he carried within him a grief so dense it had calcified into his very...
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