The Distant Promise
The chandelier in the Great Hall of St. Jude’s Institute did not hang. It floated. This was the first thing Marcus Thorne noticed upon entering the faculty lounge. The second thing he noticed was that the glass crystals were weeping. Thin, viscous tears of amber light dripped from the prisms, pooling on the parquet floor with a sound like distant rain. He blinked. The tears stopped. The light...
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