The Golden Song
The glass jar sat on the windowsill of the infirmary, catching the weak, gray light of the November afternoon. It was a heavy thing, thick-walled and old, filled with a liquid that swirled with a faint, iridescent gold. To anyone else in the St. Jude’s Orphanage, it was merely a specimen from the apothecary, a cure for the cough that had been taking the children’s breaths one by one. To Thomas,...
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