The Golden Visit
The bells of St. Jude’s did not ring for the dead, but for the error. That was the first thing I noticed as I stood in the nave, the stone floor cold through the soles of my boots, the air thick with the scent of stale incense and older, deeper rot. I was here to find the seam in the fabric of this place, the thread that pulled loose when one looked too closely at the geometry of the choir...
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