The Wistful Letter

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2026-08-20 09:51:02 -

The iron gates of St. Jude’s Orphanage for Girls did not open. They rusted shut, fused by decades of neglect and the heavy, wet fog that rolled in from the harbor every night. I sat on the cold stone steps, my fingers digging into the damp moss, watching the black iron teeth grind against each other. Inside, the windows glowed with a sickly, yellow light. It was the only warm thing in this gray...

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