The Wistful Incense
The bell tolled not for the hour, but for the breaking of the bone, a sound that resonated in the marrow of the stone walls of the St. Jude’s Infirmary, a place where the architecture of mercy had long since succumbed to the engineering of war. Margery stood in the center of the triage hall, her hands steady despite the tremor that had begun to climb her spine, holding a shard of ceramic that...
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