The Wistful Ashes
The bell tower of St. Jude’s did not ring so much as it groaned, a low, tectonic shudder that traveled down through the flagstones and into the soles of my boots, vibrating up through the bone and settling in the teeth. I stood in the center of the nave, my hands still slick with the sweat of the climb, watching the dust motes dance in the single shaft of light that pierced the stained glass...
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