The Golden Cellar
The rain did not fall so much as it was exhaled by the sky, a persistent, gray mist that clung to the slate roof of the St. Jude’s Home for the Unfortunate and the Unwanted, a place where the air always smelled of boiled wool, lavender water, and the sharp, metallic tang of fear. Elias Thorne stood in the center of the Refectory, his hands trembling not from the cold that seeped through the...
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