The Wistful Throne
The rain drummed against the stained glass windows of the St. Jude’s Industrial Orphanage, a rhythmic, relentless pounding that seemed to vibrate in the marrow of your bones. You stood in the center of the dormitory, the cold tile floor biting into your bare feet, watching the steam rise from the large, iron kettles that lined the wall. The air was thick with the scent of boiled potatoes and...
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