The Golden Song
The bell tower of St. Jude’s stood not merely as a structure of stone and timber, but as a hollow throat waiting to sing, its mouth open to a sky that had turned the color of bruised plums. Elias Thorne stood in the shadow of its base, his hands pressed flat against the cold, weeping masonry, feeling the vibration of a silence that had grown too heavy for the air to carry. He was a man who had...
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