The Golden Mirror
The air in the Grand Hall of the St. Jude’s Industrial Institute for Orphaned Boys was thick, heavy with the scent of tallow, boiled cabbage, and the sharp, metallic tang of fear that clung to the wool of our uniforms. It was the evening of the Autumn Gala, a ceremony of such grandeur that the very walls seemed to breathe under the weight of the chandeliers, and I stood at the periphery, my...
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