The Distant Whispers
The bell tolls not as a signal of time but as a physical weight, a heavy iron fist striking the air and the ground and the very marrow of your bones, and you stand in the center of the Great Hall of St. Jude’s, the dust motes dancing in the shafts of pale, industrial light that filters through the grime-streaked windows, feeling the vibration of the chime resonate in your teeth, your skull,...
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